I’ve spent the last week dealing with a faux psychological issue before it becomes a full blown fake psychological condition. Somewhere along the way, I started hoarding art supplies like I grew up in The Depression. How weird is that? It’s definitely a new thing, new as in since I wrote the Boston Massacre book new. I can’t tell if it’s my reaction to the troubling world economy, the tumbling state of publishing or just me looking at the difference betwixt the in-flow of cash pie versus the out-flow of cash pie as a professional illustrator. But whatever it is, it sucks and needs to go away.
I think I was aware of it for a while but I didn’t really see it as a problem until recently. Of course, because I tend to be dramatic, allow me to dissuade you of the notion that there are rooms so packed with paper that they are ready to collapse and kill the unwary or that I’m working on the back of matchbook covers so that I don’t use any of my precious materials. It’s not that bad. We’re talking about a few stacks of paper, barely more than a year old, that don’t even fill an entire flat file shelf. No one else on the planet would even bother to think of this in terms of mental tribulation. There’s no need to send me the e-application for that Hoarders show. Or any other reality show for that matter.
However, there is something rather insidious about letting this paper go unused for so long and I intend to nip this issue in the bud. Basically, it comes down to not making enough drawings to improve my skilz, sharpen my ideas or work through all the glorious mistakes that the artistic process requires. It’s very simple reasoning. The less mucking about you do, the less cool stuff you make. Apparently, as I’ve entertained various tangents with painting, photography, printing and all that other nonsense that I’ve hinted about during the last year or so, I’ve slowly done less and less drawing. As I said, I have no clear idea as to why, but to allow this behavior to continue will only lead to bad things.
So… the cure, as with all creative endeavors, is to do the thing that you haven’t been doing. And that’s what I’ve done. Instead of getting a sheet of paper, preparing it to become a fancy, finished drawing that I can… um… maybe turn into a book or hide in my files, I grabbed a whole pad of paper and started making messy drawings. Most went into the recycling pile; but a few were good enough to develop into something better. And since better is where I’m trying to go every time I sit down to work, I grew more excited and invested, thus making more drawings. It’s a brutal process of attrition, but there’s no way around it, I mean, other than to be a perfect genius draftsman. I am not a perfect genius draftsman. But I am more than willing to sacrifice drawing after drawing to get what I’m after. Somehow, I’d forgotten that fact.
The funny thing is that I was always pretty good at working for the sake of work. As a teenager with a complex social life combined with vast amounts of time spent painting (way back then, before cell phones and IM there were whole hours in a day when you weren’t in contact with your friends, which was awesome because it allowed all sorts of fiction and trauma to take seed, grow and make life wildly interesting… which was perfect for a kid who wanted to make Art), I cruised through paints and canvas with alarming speed. In fact, for a few years, that’s all that my family bought me for birthdays and xmases. It’s only lately that I’ve stopped working so fast and furious. College was a slaughterhouse for art supplies, simply because all I did, day in and day out, was make stuff. That was my sole purpose for getting an education and I was nothing if not a dedicated student. I may not have attended every class, or in some cases many classes, but I took the work seriously and always got things done on time and to the best of my growing ability. Even post college, I was a productive fiend, though almost entirely in the field of photography. Before writing my books, most of my “success” as an artist came from taking and printing hundreds of photographs and landing shows, which required a General Ulysses S. Grant-like mentality of attrition and results.
Maybe it’s living here, on the cusp of NYC at this point in history as a rather obscure talent in a befuddled profession that has made me more cautious with my materials. Or perhaps it’s me coping with the fact that publishing is a lottery and like most lotteries, has everything to do with luck, most of it being not statistically on my side. But really, none of that matters. It’s not like anything I do is expensive. Writing is free and my budget on paper and pencils barely reaches $100 a year. I pay more for my Netflix than I do for my drawing supplies.
It’s that logic which allowed me to stop being an idiot and start cranking out drawings. And that’s important because I have texts and ideas in need of illustrations. 2012 is going to be a good year as far as projects go. Everything I have lined up excites and inspires me. And that means I want you to see it as well.
Off to mess up a whole murder of paper. Or murder a whole mess of paper, whichever you prefer.
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