More than any other form of display, I love showing art in windows. I don't know why. There's probably something Freudian about it. When I used to have a studio on South Mill Street in Lexington, KY in 2001, I used to have a different painting displayed each week in the front window. One painting, Rockabilly Skull, actually incited the local neighborhood society guy to call the police about the "dark, cultish art" bringing down the high-class tone of their street. I knew then that the power of the window was far greater than that of the gallery or the museum. In June of 2005, I started Window Comics as an installation in my studio window at 1661 Story Avenue in Louisville's Butchertown district. The rules were simple: every Sunday morning, I would slap out a page of primitive comics with as little forethought as possible, almost like automatic writing. I would begin a story with absolutely no idea where it was going or how it would end. They were usually on typing paper, notebook paper, cardboard, backs of manila envelopes, etc. I used ordinary ball-point pens, rollerballs, sharpies, paintbrushes, whatever was laying around handy. It didn't take long for the weekly window comic to cultivate its own peculiar following. Many of the people who happened to find themselves in Butchertown walking past my studio window were employees of the Swift meat-processing plant several blocks away, as well as the neighborhood's interesting mix of characters. Stylistically, the comics were all over the map, albeit all in a hastily-scrawled way. Some dealt with real people who I'd previously drawn as comics before, such as Lexington musicians Retrovirus and Opportunistic Infection, and Grillo the Clown. Others, such as the unfinished running serial "Panola", dealt with composite characters reminiscent of people from my rural childhood. Others were just pure stream-of-consciousness wanking. Still others were more personal, such as the true story about being accosted by Fort Knox's finest.

The project ran for almost a year until I moved my primary studio to another location in Middletown with no pedestrian traffic outside the window, rendering the concept inoperable. It was probably for the best anyhow, because towards the end, as the comic's popularity grew, I found myself beginning to put too much effort into what was supposed to be a completely slapdash thing. I also began to 'cheat' on the project's ground rules, because I inevitably found myself thinking about next week's comic in advance and sometimes planning it out in my head, ruining the spontaneity. These weren't supposed to be "real" comics, they were supposed to be crap. Some would say the best comics are the crap ones anyway. In 2006 Superfrothco put out a very limited-edition collection of the "best" of the comics, reduced to postcard size and packaged in a dirty-looking brown chipboard slipcase. A more proper retrospective book of the comics will probably come out in a couple more years. The "Panola" running series-within-the-series will eventually be redrawn and released as a graphic novel unto itself.