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Part-2: Some watercolor works and comissions for the second day at MCCON 2017, see ya next year ;)

Parte-2: Algunas acuarelas y comisiones que hice para el segundo dia en MCCON 2017, nos vemos el proximo año :)

Click here to see the first part ;)

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The Dark Tower

Listen up, y'all. Back in November of 2015, when it was first announced that McCon had joined Dark Tower as the Man in Black, I posted this to my FB:

I decided to take on this 7 book series when I was in high school. I dedicated myself to reading it. I grew attached to the characters and to King’s story telling. The Dark Tower is captivating in a way that (in my opinion) far exceeds his horror writing. It’s dark and gritty and mythic and grand. I loved every moment I spent with Roland, Eddie, Susannah, Jake, and Oy. And I remember as I approached the end, I worried that it would fall short of my expectations - that I’d look back on all the time (months and months and months) I’d spent reading and be disappointed. And then, I finished it - and its depth and its magnitude hit me harder than I anticipated. It shook me to the core. It stole my breath away….and in a way that made me feel as though I was meant, not merely to read The Dark Tower, but to experience it. And so, to make a long story….not as long as it could be: THIS makes me so unfathomably happy. Matthew McConaughey, I freaking love you more every day.

That being said, some ‘a y'all know but some ‘a y'all don’t - we Matthew McConaughey lovin’ kids are in for a treat. In the books, the Man in Black delivers some of the most astoundingly beautiful, poignant, and powerful monologues that I’ve ever read. I promise you that McCon was cast (at least, in part) for proving himself in this department in True Detective.

Buckle up, kiddos. If this is done right, it’s gonna nearly kill us all in all the best ways possible.

For women who are tied to the moon, love alone is not enough. We insist each day wrap it’s knuckles through our heart strings and pull. The lows. The joy. The poetry. We dance at the edge of a cliff, you have fallen off. So it goes. You will climb up again.
You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. Like a shawl to keep you warm at night. Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse.
—  Letter From Anais Nin to Clementine von Radics (After Marty McCon