I’m sat here this evening thinking about drawing an online comic. For the last hour or so I’ve been looking around on the web at various online comic strips. My favourites are probably Atland by Nate Piekos (pictured to the right), and Copper by Kazu Kibuishi.
You see, the thing is, I studied art at college. I can draw. And I don’t just mean draw a bit - I have been trained to draw people properly. I always feel a bit guilty - working as a software developer - that I have this so called “talent” that is going completely to waste. I can’t really remember the last time I picked up a pencil and sketched anything or anybody.
Actually - I can remember the last time I drew anything “properly”. In the late 90s I signed up for an art class at college near where I worked - with the idea that it would force me into doing something. I remember turning up on the first night - all I had was a pencil and an eraser. The rest of the group arrived with all this professional kit, and I felt a bit like a fraud - like I wasn’t trying hard enough.
After we had all made polite conversation for a few minutes the tutor walked in and I did a double take… it was the same woman who had originally taught me years before. She initially ignored me, but once everybody settled down to draw their first studies (I’m guessing so she could figure out where everybody was in ability), she sidled over and sat down next to me.
“I thought I recognised the name on the enrolement sheet”
When I left college she was a bit annoyed with me - she wanted me to go straight on to University and do a masters in fine art. I was already bored with painting and drawing, and walked away from it all - towards computers. I’m guessing if I had done what they wanted they might have had an example to point at for the next generation at the college (my stuff was always pinned up in the art department corridors).
The art class was quite entertaining for that first session - the tutor made her way around the class giving tips, and teaching people, but when she got to me she would just sit down and chat about what we’d both been doing over the last few years. Looking around the room I started to feel a bit like a fraud for a different reason - it was obvious there was a gulf in ability between myself and all the people who turned up with the professional kit.
I kept my head down for much of the first session - the “professionals” seemed to know each other and I was an interloper. Then the crunch came. As we were finishing up, one of the old guys was walking across the room and looked over my shoulder. I heard him stop walking.
“I’m going to go home and shoot myself.”
I of course started to feel embarassed. What could I do but shrug my shoulders?
Over the course of the next few weeks, most of the regular year-in, year-out members of the class decided that I was pretty much “the enemy” no matter how nice I tried to be. I have heard of this kind of behaviour with people who grow vegetables for village shows, but never in an art room!
The animosity got so bad that in the end I just didn’t bother turning up any more. I think I lasted about 6 weeks. After doing a bit of arithmetic, that was in 1997. It doesn’t seem like 7 years ago.
Here’s a couple of the drawings that survive from that time (well - the scans now survive - the drawing of Jodie was given to her, so god knows where that is now).
“Man in Glasses” - pencil study from a photograph. I seem to remember that I had never drawn anybody with glasses before…
“Jodie” - a girl I used to know, and will admit to liking rather more than was healthy. I gave her the drawing, and it probably contributed to the breakup of the relationship she was in (I didn’t cheer, honest).
So the question remains. Do I commit to starting to draw again?