Temple of West

So looking back on it I find that I’m a selfish, arrogant, and disagreeable artist. I like to draw only what pleases me. I hate being made to draw anything.

A little kid says “Can you draw me a clown?” The selfish prick in me wants to get in the kid’s face and say “Screw your clown! Stick that clown up your ass!” But the nice guy in me wants to say “Sure thing, little guy!”

What actually comes out is a sort of smile and nod of acceptance then, at some point, I grudgingly sit down to draw the clown wondering why I agreed to do it in the first place.

I know. It’s just not cool. But I’m not an art gumball machine. You can’t put a nickel in and get something sweet to chew on. I jam up, my gumballs are weird, and I often display myself in the back corner where nobody goes.

Drawing comics for my own pleasure means there are no little kiddies to appeal to the nice guy inside. That leaves Mr. Meanie to make all the decisions. He often refuses to draw for himself as well as others.

In practical terms, this means I have to be very careful what sorts of projects I take on. If I don’t love the material I won’t follow through with it. Drawing comics is hard work. I need to LOVE what I’m drawing on each and every page or I get burnt out pretty fast.

Maybe that’s why I love to draw girls so much. Never get tired of drawing boobs, as they say.

There’s an argument to be made that I’m simply lazy about it all. I could feel the burn and fire up the stubborn side of me and get shit done. Maybe. But again, I’m not a machine. I have to love what I’m doing. Once the love gets overtaken by the feeling that I’m locked on, committed, obligated…I find it much harder to trudge onward. In fact I find the idea of trudging to be somehow sacrilegious. Art is my religion, comics are my temples.

Just some random thoughts. Have a good one.