Saturday, September 23, 2017





Let me tell you a story. A rookie first year caricature artist one day, feeling frustrated with his customers and with his abilities left his stand and traveled to a faraway land to meet with an old caricature master in hopes that he could obtain some wisdom which he could then apply to his craft in order to become a better caricature artist. When he finally pushed through the crowds of the busy farmers market in the faraway city he found the old man drawing, and his model was the plainest, most impossible face the rookie caricaturist had ever seen.










But when the old master finished in a few quick moments the drawing on his board was an astonishing sight to behold, and when he tore off the drawing and showed the customer they and their family watching and all the crowd around them burst into laughter. There were a few customers after that, all with similar reactions, and the rookie waited around until finally he had a moment to seek the council of the old master. And when he did he beseeched him.

"Master, I am nought but a first year rookie. All my life I have pursued art and I have spent all my money and four years of my life at art school, but now I have tasted of caricatures and I want nothing but to draw people and show them their faces and make them laugh. I seek from you guidance, any helpful word you might have to offer. The old master scratched his beard and thought for a moment. finally he said:










"let me tell you a story. When I was a first year artist like yourself I went about it pretty much like everybody does. Except for one thing. When I wasn't drawing caricatures I spent every waking second learning to paint with oils. And after many years, finally I got to a point where I'd mastered oils, and after I'd mastered oils I went and took all the oil paints and brushes and I shoved it all up my arse. And then I moved on to pastels. By day I drew caricatures and by night in the secrecy of my studio I studied chalk pastels till I mastered them. Then I shoved all the pastels up my arse. After that, watercolor and I continued on like this. Learning graphite pencil, guache, even crayons and then shoving it all up my arse. Then one slow chilly October day a boy came up to me, and you might not believe it. I could hardly believe it myself when I saw it with my own two eyes, but his face was made of crayon lines. It’s even near impossible to conceive of it with the human mind unless you see it with your own two eyes, but my hand to God, as sure I'm talking to you, this boy's face defied all reason. The slopes and the crevices and the shapes of every last feature were the lines and textures of the simple crayon. That rudimentary tool they give to a child in kindergarten. But I tell you now, when that boy with his inexplicable face sat down before for me I was able to draw him, what with crayons being in my arse n all.

At this the young rookie thanked the old master and left, never to return again.

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