In the wee hours of the morning last night, James grabbed my shoulder, rolled over, looked at me intently, and said:
James: I’m supposed to wake you now!
James: Your thing’s come (mumble mumble…) unglued.
James: (very alertly) This is about halfway, right here!
I have no idea, either. He remembers none of it.
In other news, my colored version of the tiger couple made mod’s choice at Elfwood. I feel warm and fuzzy. I know, we real artists are supposed to eschew praise in favor of harsh and savage critique, shunning pleasantries in order to be scourged with whips of criticism. And I want and need critique as much as the next guy, but it’s still occasionally nice, when one’s ego is at a lower ebb than usual, to get a hundred comments saying “I like this.” I mean, c’mon, why did I become an artist, after all? (I’m fairly sure it wasn’t for the money.) It was pretty much to make art that people would like to see, or be amused by or horrified by, or something. Which as far as “reasons to make art” go, is probably about as banal and unenlightened as possible. But the other reason, “To get the ideas out of my head before they begin chewing on my brain” makes me sound weird.
Speaking of weird, and Elfwood, I picked up ANOTHER weird commenter, which, while not inherently surprising, is a higher frequency than usual–I generally average one I-hate-your-work guy every few months, rather than two in two weeks. (Random obscene comments, of course, strike as often as the tides.) This guy says:
I am not at all fond of your work. I have almost blocked myself from ever going to your page. You have some talent. Fine tune it and you will have something great. Your inspirations to draw or whatever you use, are not enough. I have critisized you so many times, maybe you should listen to just one. Only two of fity do I like, maybe the minority is right???? Spud
The weird bit is that all these criticisms amount to exactly three comments, two of which were positive, and one of which includes the marvelous line “I despise the arrogant wombat.” Someone may be a little confused, or else thinks I can hear his comments when he talks to the screen. But hey, it’s all worth it to read “I despise the arrogant wombat” during breakfast. Nearly blew coffee out of my nose.
Got my on-line portfolio revamped, ditched anything furry that couldn’t squeak by as children’s illustration (alas, one must cater to the bias of art directors…) and have been sending out e-mail inquiries fast and furious…once I’ve exhausted a few days doing that, I’ll send out some physical portfolios. I really hate this part of the job, I gotta say–it might be nice to have an agent, but I’ve heard so many horror stories that I haven’t ever looked closely into such things.
But hey! I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, even the job security of flipping burgers.