MY HUMBLE BEGININGS

People sometimes ask how I began my non-profit business, i.e., a career in art. Well, the non-profit part comes easy. One day I plan on writing a book entitled, "You, too, can run a business into the ground", aka, "I should've learned a trade like my pop kept telling me to do". Anyway, back to the subject at hand. 

So, here I was, a little squirt of five. Someone (you'll forgive me for not recalling exactly who, since it was, after all, quite some time ago) gave me a gift. It was a small box with, well, I don't really remember what it was (a cornucopia of games, stickers and other junk), but it had, as a theme, Woody Woodpecker images and stuff. At the time, I liked the Woody. What did I know––like most kids, I had bad taste. 

So here I was with this Woody Woodpecker-themed box of something or other, and I suppose I got it into my head to trace a picture of the Woody and then lie to my pop, telling him I drew it––as in, freehand. I don't know if it was the lying part or that my pop frowned on the practice of tracing, but I realized that if he asked me to repeat my prodigious feat of fine draftsmanship I'd be in a tough spot. My only recourse was to learn to draw the Woody for real, sans tracing––so that's what I proceeded to do, which explains the crappy drawing you see here. This probably isn't the exact drawing that began my life-long journey into poverty, but it was one of the first. 

Had I known then what I know now, I would have confessed to my pop how I had lied to him about drawing the Woody, and then, fearing I would take up a life of forgery, he would have beat out of me any further desire to put pencil to paper. At least, then, I could have gotten into a more reliable line of business, like hosting chicken-fights in my backyard.