Ariana Reines: Somehow the anchor of the miracle disperses a spark into everything else, including the apparent misery, that comes both before and after.
Jadé Fadojutimi: At first, this made me feel extremely vulnerable.
Reines: Oh, but that’s a good thing, that timidity.
Fadojutimi: Yes, I believe so. I’ve spent years immersed in anime.
Reines: Except, you know, fuck Rome. Eat this and follow me.
Fadojutimi: That moment marked the start of everything for me—the moment I grasped my painting language.
Reines: And then, you know, it just kept coming, and when I realized there was language inside what was happening I took out my notebook and pencil.
Fadojutimi: But why should there be such a large distinction between painting and drawing?
Reines: There are several statements of purpose in it.
Fadojutimi: Oh, wow, where do I begin?
Reines: The beggar, the prostitute, the village idiot, dogs, a cat, a kid, a tortured or crucified man. That’s it.
Fadojutimi: They are the mood of that moment captured as an event and celebrated.
Reines: A pilot light. Which is not a simple thing at all.
Fadojutimi: Yes. It’s a buried origin of yourself that’s immune to society’s rhythm.
Reines: I’m looking at everything and everyone I’m thinking about, which includes everyone I know and love, and a lot of people I don’t know, and some people I hate, and some weird ideas that haunt me. Who else is gonna do it for us?
—Raymond Cummings has written for Splice Today since 2010.