It’s been a long, gold, dark, damp, sulky, depressive winter. Last autumn I had all these fantasies of spending a nice quiet winter holed up in my studio, making all kinds of art. December was pretty much a wash, what with trying to visit two families and friends and relatives over the holidays. January and February were pretty okay, production-wise, but it was a fight every night to get myself to the drafting table. One more chapter of this book, I’d say. Just another fifteen minutes of teevee. Anything to avoid the work.
The story was constipated, unfinished. I hadn’t heard back from one of my critical advisors. The art was unsatisfying, as I’d come to a long boring sequence of talking heads that needed to be made interesting. The weather was gloomy and dreadful; cold and snotty and rainy. It was pretty hard to get motivated. And then I got sick.
With the advent of spring, things have been looking up. As the sun has returned, so has my energy and enthusiasm. I had a very productive weekend: finished painting two difficult pages, did a ton of visual research, thumbnailed three pages and got two pages three-quarters pencilled, including a difficult scene I’d been putting off drawing for ages. It felt good to find a groove again, and I needed a quiet weekend in to just get stuff done. Still a lot lot lot of work to be done. Carla used to say: It’s like eating a whale. Just keep chewing.
Munch.