I am at a loss for words, so forgive me if this lacks eloquence or even coherence. I cannot understand what could go so wrong in someone's head that they grow to believe in their hearts that murder is the right idea. I don't care how insulting a drawing is. I don't care what religion someone is. Nothing can justify what happened at Charlie Hebdo and the Kosher supermarket at Porte de Vincennes— nothing. I am sad and I am angry, and all I want to do is take a pencil in my hand and draw.
Pedro and I got back from Toulouse three hours ago. We were there to pick up our sketchbooks and artwork from the Carnets de Voyages en Orient exhibition that we recently took part in, and walked into a city in mourning. On the edge of the sadness however, there was a magnificent air of solidarity, of defiance, of pride.