The Colossus Called Justus

And in the days of men, there cometh giants. Mighty are they, these that men call artists. In the midst of them all strode the colossus called Justus. Promethean was his eye. His gaze knew no end.

The meek shall inherit the earth. It is from their future inheritance that I write these words.

It is treachery of the worst, most foul kind for an artist to not ply their trade. It is a sin for Nick Justus to not draw. It is a crime of the soul for his pen to run dry of ink.

To gather curves and lines and squiggles on a page, and to transform them into Jesus E. Lee flying through the air with a giant fist rushing right at you, is a gigantic feat, to be certain - one worthy of accolades and praise.

What a pity it is that the canvas upon which such a work of art took life proved to be so small. How even worse it is that the Promethean does not take us to visit his castle in the sky of artistic inspiration.

Even if he did, though, could any of us see what he sees? How could we, if we cannot see as he sees?

This blog, still in a state of relative infancy, struggles to find the right path, to strike the right balance. How best to pay tribute to this man called Justus, to this giant amongst giants, to this artist who has yet to reveal his very best unto a world that laments the passing of each new day in which no new art emanates from his hand?

He clenches his pens. He wields his weapons of choice. He aims to win this War of the Giants!

As Galactus has his herald, so, too, should Nick Justus. May the Harbingers of His Art to Come be many! May they fill the skies of the Internet, and may Nick Justus lay waste to the imaginations of those like I, of those who dare to pretend that we can envision only that which a true giant may see.

The Path of Patience is a long and arduous trek. It is the path that I take each day, as I weave and wind through the passage of time to behold the next artistic monument crafted by the Hand of Justus.

Even still, I must wait - we must wait - anew.

The giants of this realm move at their own pace, plodding along - until they choose to strike! The artistic meek of this world are powerless to stand in their way. We part before them, as they weave their artistic magics and craft their imaginative handiwork. Powerless, I say!

The world has art. What need has it of blogs? Verily, I say unto you, both one and all, that giants live and thrive in the words that dot the landscape of the communications of men. Our legends and our lore are replete with mention of they and their kind.

The world of men can never have too much legend and lore. We can never have too many giants. There are far worse fates reserved for men than to rouse artistic giants the like of Nick Justus from their slumber.

In our hearts, live many giants. In our memories, giants populate our thoughts. It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that giants rule the world of our art. It is a fact of life. It has long been a staple of our existence. Ever and always shall it remain that way.

Our Creator is an artist, the likes of which no man may match, the likes of which even giants may not approach.

The gift of art that our Creator saw fit to bestow upon Nick Justus was crafted by The Divine, just and only for him. It fits Nick Justus like a glove. Inside that glove is a fist - a giant fist of artistic talent that hasn't even yet begun to whale upon the world.

As Nick Justus continues to wrestle with the artistic blessings that permeate every fiber of his existence, in order to be the man, he's got to beat the man.

The only thing holding Nick Justus back is a single man - namely, himself.

Giants of considerable artistic strength enter the fray, every day. They compete with one another, with their impressive feats of artistic strength, unceasingly and without end.

Even giants, much like lesser men, must know when to strike.

The iron is hot. The time is right. The hour of reckoning fast approaches.

That's why this is the Age of Justus!