I saw the giant crash to Earth, only to rise again. It was the fall of the mighty, but it was short-lived. For no respite was to be found from from the glory of his brushes and the terror of his pens. It was with an iron fist of ink that he would rule his own destiny.
To rue or to rule?
That was the question, you see. I stand among the favored of mankind, to witness the progression of the artist named Nick Justus.
The Chicago Comic & Entertainment Expo, or as it is more affectionately known, C2E2, did not make place at its table for Mister Justus at its 5th Annual C2E2 Artist Alley.
In his own words, he had applied months ago, only to have his application to be met with a lack of accommodation. Ah, the misfortunes of war in the life of a comic book artist struggling for a place at the table of wider recognition!
Denial or rejection?
As if it matters.
This scene will repeat itself countless times over, for artists the world over. What good can come from embracing the Ritual of Lamentation? That which is done, is done. One less gargantuan will walk in their midst. But, it is hardly the only rainbow to adorn the landscape. The giant need but lift up his eyes, and wipe the clouds of disappointment from his vision, to see the world, anew, once more.
In the months that he waited, where did he labor? What were the fruits of his pens? Where are the treasures of his brushes? In the realm of his own art, for what does a giant wait? What gives a master of his own artistic destiny pause? For that matter, where mastery lies, to whom or to what shall the master enslave himself, and for what gain or for what purpose should such a reversal of roles transpire?
God did not create the Chicago Comic & Entertainment Expo. 'Twas the handiwork of men - of mere men.
Yet, from whence came the God-given talent of Nick Justus? Its origin is not traceable to C2E2, nor to any singular convention, nor even to the sum totality of all of them bedecked in their resplendent glory that they wear with such fragile razor-thinness.
The giant knocked. They did not grant entry. For the love of all that truly matters in this universe, I pose the question - Why does a giant knock?
I dare say that Nick Justus does no one a favor - not his fans, not himself - by placing undue value in a mere denial or a singular rejection, no matter what the source that such emanates from.
Why pander to the markets crafted by the guile of others? C2E2 is but a tiny bubble in the Ocean of Opportunity that is the reality that God lay before this artist of whom I speak. The minions of C2E2 hold sway over their tiny realm, but nowhere else. Neither justice nor Justus shall be served, by tangling one's own self in the vines of despair that such events frequent upon artists with hopes, and dreams, and aspirations.
Disappointment has a way of crashing through the roof onto our heads. But, it is intangible, and only has substance to injure us with, if we are so utterly foolish as to place undue value in it, to begin with.
If God had wanted Nick Justus to fail, then He would not have lit the fire of artistic greatness within him.
To become entangled in vines is a far cry from suffering actual defeat. The giant rises, for such falls are short-lived, and as his Promethean eye will look back upon it from one day in the future, this event will seem so small as to have never even existed, at all.
For all that the giant sees is small, though thorns prick and falls hurt. For even giants may feel pain. It is so, that all of the creatures in God's Creation may know that they live, even still.
It is through a small set of eyes that I behold this giant, this behemoth of inking might. Through the dust and debris of the fall, I see the giant stir, once more.
Behold, how the mighty have fallen!
Behold, how the mighty rise, anew!
The sun shines through. The day is new.
The giant, if anything, looms bigger than before!
