I heart cartoonists for about a jillion reasons. They are funny and mordant and profane and twisted and born storytellers. They can draw. They are optimists, or they wouldn’t have the juice to keep on making comics in the face of the marketplace. Yes, comics are enjoying a renaissance of sorts with new legitimacy and increased venues for access, but that doesn’t mean artists are making a lot of money. So like all creatives it is necessary to periodically buck up, talk one’s self out of throwing it all over and training to be a dental hygienist.
I cut this panel out of a Dick Tracy cartoon almost three decades ago (think how many time’s I have needed its message!), framed it in a plastic thrift store frame and kept it on my work table. One day my pal Michael Dougan, he of the winsome line and lovely sense of composition, had received some rejection or another and I gave it to him, figuring he needed it more than I did. Then I forgot all about it. Last week I got a mention on Twitter and followed the link to this picture. Man, I needed to see it. Thanks, Michael.
Snap out of it, folks! And have an inspiring Wednesday.