After watching a quick video course on Skillshare (by John McNamee) I decided to take some of his key points to heart and have another go at cartooning.
I tried to keep it simple and use basic shapes to create my characters. In this case, the two characters are me and Dad (no surprise there).
I did a couple of quick drawings with no particular purpose to see if I could capture the essence of each of us with relatively few strokes.
Dad kept getting more complicated than I think he needs to be. I’m going to work on this a little more tomorrow to come up with something better/simpler, but for today, the scraggly beard stays.
From there, the suggestion was to create a four-panel comic. Here’s my effort.
What I quickly realized was that a ‘simple’ comic can actually contain layers of stuff to unpack (it also occurred to me that maybe I should be seeing a therapist to hash all this out rather than inflicting this on a live audience).
The first panel was deliberately meant to be childlike in nature, hence the inclusion of a belly button. When young kids first start drawing people they often include this critical piece of anatomy So, too, did I when I was little. But then, with said navel in the first panel I had to carry that through for consistency.
When, by the final panel, I brought in Dad, well, the thought of drawing a full body with a navel for him was just way too weird. The solution was the floating head up in the clouds.
The bigger question that arose, though, was about this total obsession I have developed with drawing. It is fun, yes, but there is clearly more going on given my subject is so often Dad or related in some way to Dad. I often wonder what on earth he would have thought about this peculiar turn of events.
When I ask in panel 3, “Why didn’t Dad teach me when he was alive?” that isn’t actually the right question. He did teach me a lot about art/drawing/following my creative curiosities. But, informally. His failure to teach me how to draw better was, in fact, my failure to ask for help. I showed very little interest in drawing after about the age of 7. And, he wasn’t one to push his interests on his kids. We were all encouraged to find our bliss and embrace whatever floated our respective boats.
So, yes, I’m kicking myself for not having spent more time drawing alongside him when he had so much to offer. I am also keenly aware (now more than ever) that it’s hard/perhaps impossible to actually improve someone else’s drawing. Yes, there are certain tips and tricks and suggestions that can be valuable but the only way to get better is to draw. A lot.
Perhaps a better/more accurate question might have been, “Why on earth didn’t I make some time for drawing before he passed away?”
One of the fringe benefits of sitting down in front of a blank sheet of drawing paper each day is that this process allows me to spend time with memories of Dad for a reason. Not that I should need a reason, but this practice seems to be providing some structure for my mourning. Which, clearly, is going to continue for some time yet. But, rather than feeling completely overwhelmed, this quiet time spent in the presence of Dad’s memories feels somewhat productive. And, yes, I mean that on an emotional level as much as (moreso) than in a ‘wow - that’s a great piece of art you just created’ kind of way.
Dad always had a dry/tending-to-dark sense of humour and he did enjoy teasing me, so if he is out there somewhere watching me struggling away to come up with a ‘simple comic’ I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying the show. And I’d like to think he appreciates the fact I haven’t forgotten him quite yet.
On that note, I’m heading to bed. See you tomorrow!