The surest way to make me do the exact opposite of something is by announcing it on this website. Yesterday I promised I’d review something or make an essay about the difference between a master writer and a hack. Today I go back on yet another promise to return to what seems to be my favorite subject: Me. Namely why I am a complete and utter waste of an artist.
Pictured at left is a scene from the comic
page currently up. I was unreasonably proud of it. I liked how the colors came out, the shading, and everything. To my mind it looked professional. Like some other artist had crept in and put it on my computer for me.
I was especially proud of the hands. As long time readers know, hands are my nemesis. They point and laugh at me with alarming frequency. And they are right to do so.
These, though, are perfect. The best hands I’ve ever drawn. The fingers look right and everything. I was happy. No, ecstatic. I was advancing.
I was so pleased that I showed the image to Brother Todd. There is no greater mistake than that. On top of being a fellow artist, he has the unmitigated gall to be a better artist than me. He’s been this way since he was a kid, and if he doesn’t cut it out, there’ll be serious repercussions.
Namely, I’ll cry.
With a river of snot dripping down my nose.
Then he’ll be sorry. The meanie.
On seeing the above image, he told me, to my face, “The hands are backwards.”
Now I’m sure you spotted that little detail right away. I’m sure any five year old did, too. Not me. I had to stare at it a while before the other shoe dropped and the little grey cells decided to function.
What I had done with the hands was draw them from life. I held my own hands in front of my face, noticed how they looked, then drew them. No change for perspective, or any of that high faulting artistic mumbo jumbo.
So I fixed the problem. It now looked a little like what you see on the left. And I was happy.
I also didn’t show the results to Todd. Fool me once, shame on me, and all that.
(For the record, Todd is what passes as an artistic editor for the comic. He hasn’t asked for the job and will never be paid, which is how I like it. Teach him to be better than me.)
Now around this time, you might be expecting some sort of moral or summation or something. A sign that I’m done talking and that you can go on to more coherent ramblings. Don’t think I don’t know. I do it, too. There’s only so much of me anyone can take.
But! The story has a coda! When it came time to upload the page, which page do you think I used? The corrected grand one or the bad one?
That’s right. How did you guess?
I couldn’t even find the grand one. Near as I can figure, I either never saved or Jasc crashed on me and I never went back to fix the fix.
Such is my life.
I still say the hands are some of my best. With luck, I’ll improve as an artist as the years pass.
Assuming, of course, that I can finish the next page I need to do…