A Window For Delights

I’m currently in that curious state of physical and mental gymnastics I call ‘Final Art’. This is when I have art due on a picture book. Final Art is a sort of a performance piece—every line, every character design, every color I choose is for public consumption. It induces a months-long melange of panic and exhilaration. You can practice the trumpet all day long at home and sound great, but when you finally get to the orchestra hall and blow on your horn and nothing comes out but peanut butter, you will not be remembered for how well you practiced at home. Because of this phenomenon, most of my other earthly duties fall to the wayside to ensure I deliver “good work”.

The downside to this, of course, is I get little time to nurture my other important projects, such as dog petting, door answering, and—of course—this here super ultra secret diary. But just as Sadie will nudge me gently with her cold, wet snout until I pet her, my diary has been nudging me, whispering its name… or my name… someone’s name. Someone named “Rytchew L’Zeehassho.” I’m not sure who this person is. They sound European!

Now, those of you with a keen memory might remember me writing about Final Art in the past. Around this time last year I was entrenched, painting my fingers to the bone for the upcoming What’s Scarier Than Thunder? I have yet to reveal anything about this current book, as I’m not sure what I can or can not share without the publisher hunting me down and wearing my pelt, so I’ll sneak you this little snippet:

I also thought this would a be a great opportunity to offer some other delights I’ve been meaning to put in the diary. First off is this comic I drew for Josh Lieb:

This was one of the many, many, comic ideas Josh posts on his Cartoons I Can’t Draw. If you draw comics, or even if you don’t draw comics, you should draw one of Josh’s comics. It’s good practice. And Josh might share it with the world! When’s the last time you did something nice for the world, hmm?

Next, I found this entertaining comic in my archives. It’s one of the many many Instagram posts I deleted back in the spring, when the robots started stealing art, so they could make worse art, with more fingers.

I had so many Instagram posts. Over a decade’s worth. Each one lovingly crafted for millions and millions of people to breeze by while they looked for their friend’s posts to click the heart before being called a bad friend. Good times.

Here’s another one!

I’m not sure why this one cracks me up, but it does. And it’s one of those weird comics where when I try and clean it up, it breaks. Even when I try and fix the text just a teensy bit, my gut clears its throat and slowly shakes it head.

Okay, next drawing. This is a theme I’ve explored several times over the past twenty years, a fellow I used to regularly see having a bit of a scrub in the fountain at Logan Circle.

I revisit this so often because I never quite capture the true character of the man. There was a majesty about his presence. He owned that fountain, belonged there, like Nero at his baths. But every time I draw it, I fall short. Not that it matters. I need pieces like this, really hard ones, as a sort of palette cleanser when I grow weary of a style. Picture books require SO much drawing in the same style, and I tend to naturally drift into other styles just to amuse myself, but that ends up undermining the consistency of the book as a whole.

For years I used concept art, like this fellow pictured below, as my palette cleanser. It also worked as a sort of sharpener for my eye. Once I’d labored over getting a bit of clothing to fold right, anatomy to crystallize, and character to shine through, I’d have the level of competence I needed to face the most daunting feat in drawing: putting the right line, in the right place, on the first try. Chilling.

I’ve got approximately 1300 character studies of this sort. It occurs to me now pretty much no one has ever seen one. So… I guess this is some sort of scoop! Wow! It feels good to share my secret passions! Oh! Speaking of which—

That’s an authentic 1878 Whitford Prestidigitator! As you probably already know, no one really called it that—most people referred to them as a Butter King, because it was such a close facsimile of the 1875 Humberry Butter King. But the Prestidigitator could churn double the capacity. You could have over 52 pounds of butter in just under an hour! Cows would DIE trying to keep up with the demands of the 1878 Whitford Presdigitator! They probably would have called it the Cow Killer, except that nickname was already taken by the 1839 Whitford Smooth Crank. Amazing!

Okay… I’ve enjoyed this little window of time to revisit my secret diary—and you, the people who shamelessly sneak in, pop it open for a read, and abscond with my socks (at least I assume that’s where they go). Catch you Butter Kings next go-round!

What with today being Small Business Saturday, consider supporting local Philadelphia bookshop, Partners And Son. Why, you could even get yourself a copy of one of my many books! Like… The Definitive Ambidextrous… or Six-Penny Anthems, Volume One… or the ultimate holiday gift for the friend or relative with lots of time and a perverse sense of humor, Birthday Street: The Unabridged Collection! Mention me and they’ll give you a discount!

Well, that’s a lie. They’ll probably say, “That guy? He shoplifted four books and knocked over a display stand.”

But the important thing is, they NOTICED me!