THE UGLY DUCKLING

This was the very last panel I drew for an eight-page comic I recently completed. In all honesty, it was a throwaway panel, insofar as I put little thought, planning, or care into it. I just wanted to draw something--anything--to get through the thing. Although I try to give my all no matter what I do, the truth of it is that when I'm not getting paid well it's difficult to spend more time than necessary on something. I just can't afford to spend all day on something when I have bigger fish to fry. 

So here I was, finishing up this quick ugly-duckling-doodle of a panel, and after it was done I looked at it and it struck some chord in me, and I can't quite figure why. It is, after all, very cartoony (which is what the art-director wanted), and there's nothing great about it at all. Like I said, it's a throwaway drawing. But I can't help but take some great pleasure in it, though it's not a feeling I expect anyone else to share. I'm certain most everyone is looking at it and thinking it's a throwaway panel also. Maybe it's the fact that I'd be hard-pressed to create something this cartoony if asked to do so, so getting this result by accident is what I find so charming about it. I don't expect anyone else to understand what I'm babbling about, so this is largely an insider's conversation (between me, myself, and I). Yeah, okay, so you're not impressed with it either, but that's my point. 'Why am I finding pleasure in the mundane' is what I'm wondering. It's one of those "surprised by joy" moments C.S. Lewis wrote about. Those rare moments when the most mundane thing provokes a great swelling of joy to rise within you, for no apparent reason. I'm not speaking about events like a sunset, a child's smile, or any of the trite, stereotypical things people ascribe to a God-moment. I'm talking about those really mundane things that shouldn't inspire anything. It's difficult to describe to anyone who's never experienced it. It's like trying to describe colors to a blind person. It's one of those 'gotta be there', subjective moments. You either get it or you don't -- like those stereogram optical-illusion illustrations that were so popular in the late-eighties; the one's that had everyone staring and "oohing-and-aahing", even though I saw absolutely nothing. I was certain I was the intended victim of a grand Candid Camera conspiracy to drive me batty. But I was determined not to be the unwitting dupe of this most nefarious hi jinx. I felt like the kid in the story, "The Emperor's New Clothes". I wanted to scream out, "This is hooey! There's nothing there!" Well, eventually I stared long enough to become cross-eyed, and then, like magic, there it was. And then it would disappear ... and reappear ... and disappear again. But I did (sometimes) see what others saw. Perhaps if you stare at this comic panel long enough you'll see what I see ... but I doubt it.