There is a kind of minor beasts born from the leftovers of the creation, the oversights of the mythographers, the sunny noon of an insomniac draftsman, from ballpoint pens and notebooks. They are unfinished, barely visible, fuzzy creatures. They only acquire some reality in catalogs, in bureaucratic lists, in enumerations of things that almost exist.

Little Ballpoint Beasts drawings. Illustrated bestiary.