There comes a time in an artist's life when he finally does work that pencil down to an unworkable nib, or that pen to a dry, desolate carcass. That time has come for this artist and his pencil.
Sure she's still got some good lines in her, but soon she'll go the way of all the Earth and find herself in my trash. All that will remain of her are these pictures. Let it be known that she was good to me and I to her. That is all