My silly little art project passed a silly little milestone yesterday- my 1000th drawing (of course, if you only count the good ones, the number is much, much smaller). Beyond the fact that now I’ll have to expend the energy to write an extra digit when noting the number on the back corner of each page, it’s ultimately pretty insignificant. No fireworks went off, there’s no parade, no golden trumpets from the heavens, and I didn’t get a congratulatory phone call from the President. I think some small part of me actually expected to hear the *plink* “Achievement Unlocked” sound when I signed that thousandth portrait, but that didn’t happen either. The whole experience was rather underwhelming, to tell you the truth.
Most importantly, though, it doesn’t mean the project is over, for better or for worse. Not that I hadn’t considered it at one point. Originally it was only going to go on for a year, but when the year was up, it was pretty much the same “that’s it?” feeling, so I replaced it with a “fuck it” feeling and kept going. Same thing after the second year came and went. And now that another perfectly decent excuse to quit has gone by, it’s pretty obvious that there’s no planned end in sight. In fact, I can only think of three possible scenarios that would make me put my pen and sketchbook away:
• I reach a point where I feel the time and energy put into the project has ultimately been worth it in some real, tangible way ($$$$ BIG MONEY $$$$)
• There are no more people left on this earth to draw
• I am killed by death (or left incapacitated and physically unable to draw)
Or, okay, I suppose if the reanimated corpse of Abraham Lincoln claws its way out of the grave, catches the bus to my house, and commands me to quit, I might consider it. It has to be Lincoln, though. If I open the door and it’s fucking Franklin Pierce standing there pointing his bony finger at me, I’ll tell him to get fucked. Seriously. I’m not some pushover who takes orders from just any undead ex-President. Especially not from Franklin Pierce. What a douchebag.
Anyway, if you’re into it, you can still order a print(s) from my World Wide Web Internet E-Cyberstore by clicking the “Prints” link up there at the top of this page. I’ll promptly wash the barbecue sauce and other assorted filth from my fingers and personally sign it just for you, my World Wide Web Internet E-Cyberfriend. I’ll even sign it in whatever color ink you desire (provided it’s black).
Or if you’re poor like me or just simply don’t feel like giving up your precious wall space for anything less than a Picasso, Renoir or Big Mouth Billy Bass, I guess that’s okay too, but if you happen to know anyone with deep pockets and reduced standards, send them over this way.