I would guess, oh I don't know maybe... 68% of producing an image for me is pure white hot worry. The remaining percentage being fear, hope, indecision and finally, ill advised contented pride.That ill advised contented pride then lasts for about a week or so. I then flick through my drawings, turn the pages of my sketchbooks late into the night, questioning myself, second guessing everything until that gravelly, grating voice begins whispering gently in the back of my mind.
"Burn them. You suck."
"But my flat has no fireplace? I know I have dedicated vast swathes of time to questionable artwork but should everyone else in this block suffer too?"
"Yes. They are wheat to your chaff, fuel to your rage. Your incredible waste of space, your gross incompetence, your perfect pointlessness has condemned them all."
"Really, I didn't know... say is this drawing of a happy cat that bad?"
"Your eyes are clouded, blinded by your pride and arrogance. See the cat's face? I thought it was a mongoose. And I don't even know what a mongoose looks like. We demons are never sent pictures of God's most holiest creatures."
"The mongoose is the holiest of all creatures?"
"Did I say that? Do you listen to anything? I said it was one of God's most holy creatures. No wonder you tuned out all those people chanting "You suck!"
"What people?"
"Open the front door"
"Ok... Oh? Hey! Wow, there sure are a lot of you. Is that Carl from accounts at the back there? How you doing?! Anyone for coffee?"
Some time later...
"Good coffee, Reeko. Maybe we wouldn't have assembled the mob if we'd known."
"Yeah I do make good coffee. So would anyone like to hear one of my post-emo folk ballads?"
