It was a matter of Perfect Cosmic Timing that I came of age during that 5-7 year era when the "Hippie Revolution" exploded, and not because I ever considered myself a hippie, (although I did let my hair grow out a bit for a while there, I have to admit.) Probably every community in America held their version of Woodstock a year or so after the actual event, and I went to a couple here in the Pacific Northwest. Lots of L.S.D. Tons of pot. Streams lined each of the farms these rock festivals were held on, and nude bathers lined the shores.

​     This "Perfect Cosmic Timing" thing went deeper than that, though. More than merely the Time of the Hippie, it was the Time of the Artist. It was the time of Midnight Cowboy and M.A.S.H. and ​The Godfather. It was the time when the Big Bang of Marvel Comics expanded to consume the comics industry. In music? The Beatles and rock music. Come on. The artistic community had Andy Warhol. The SF community inflamed with the New Wave from Britain. A young artist, like me, had every reason to believe that to train and hone their individual artistic voice was a perfectly legitimate way to live a commercially professional life. 

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