Graphic reporting: My other career.

I've been blogging about my children’s book career for nearly 6 years now. But I’ve rarely discussed my other career: Graphics reporting at the Statesman.

I spend just as much time illustrating and preparing graphics at the Statesman as I do illustrating for children’s publishers. And the Statesman pays better, too.

So, what in the heck is a graphic reporter, you ask? Simply put, a graphic reporter is one who tells and supports news stories with drawings — charts, maps, diagrams, illustrations. I draw for the newspaper!

Here I am today interviewing a couple of Austin police officers about their new in-car video surveillance system. As a graphic reporter, it’s my job to explain to readers, visually, what this system is and how police will use it.

In the photos, I’m taking notes and sketching as officers answers my questions. Am I nervous sitting there in the drivers seat of a cop car? Heck yes! But I play it cool, best as I can.

In the top photo, two reporters and I lob questions at the officers. After the interview, we return to the newsroom to brainstorm ideas on how to best present the graphic. In this case, it's decided that I’ll draw the pictures while Rob V. organizes and lays out the text with my drawings.

Here’s a look at the final graphic and a link to the story.

Don and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Alexander doesn't have a thing on me. My day has been worse:

--Bought a car battery to install myself, but couldn't find my tools.

--Dug through the messy garage, found a wrench, but cable nuts were two different sizes.

--Searched unsuccessfully for a second wrench.

--Found an adjustable plumbing wrench, but stripped and ruined the nut.

--Found needle-nose pliers, which slipped on the stripped nut, hit metal against metal, sparked and shocked myself.

--My heart stopped. No, literally, for a second, I think it did.

--Decided to take the car to Goodyear, but the spark must have shorted out the electricity and my doors wouldn't open.

--Gave up. Called road service.

--In the meantime, I tried the key manually. The door opened, but it set off the alarm.

--Unable to shut off the alarm, I drove to Goodyear — two miles away — through traffic, with the alarm blaring. Dweeb.

--Left the car at Goodyear, walked two miles home.

Car will be ready in two hours, so I have to walk two miles back to get it because I have to be at work by 3 p.m. Sweaty.

Around Our Way on Neighbors' Day.

Hey all, my colleague, Tameka Fryer Brown, at the Brown Bookshelf has a book coming out in little less than a month. It's called Around Our Way on Neighbors' Day. It will be released on August 1st, and has already received a nice review from Booklist.

Now here's the thing, in this economy, bookstores are reluctant to take a chance on stocking books by first-time authors (especially books that feature brown faces). So how does one get exposure? Well, as Tameka says, "It will take a 'movement on the ground.'"

Here's what you can do:

1. Purchased a copy of the book, RIGHT AWAY!

2. Call or visit your local independent bookstore, or chain bookstore (Borders, Barnes and Noble, Books-A-Million, etc.) TODAY and tell them you'd like to purchase a copy.

3. Purchase online.

4. PASS ALONG this information. Blog, tweet, email, Facebook.

We must support each other.

Some recent work. My varied styles.

Recently I spoke to a children's literature class at the University of Texas, and someone asked a question that comes up often in regard to my various illustration styles: Why do you illustrate in so many styles, and does it help or hurt you?

And my answer: I don't know. But I like working this way.

To each is own. But for me, having many styles has worked to my benefit. I get a variety of illustration projects because I offer variety. Art directors have rummaged through my portfolio like they were selecting taffy from a candy store. "Oh I want this one and that one and this one!" But some have argued that by having so many styles, an artist never gets very good at one thing.

To that I say, maybe.

I understand that because I have so many looks, people might not know who I am. It's like covering my face with a mask, a different one every day. That might confuse people, I don't know.

I'm a self-taught illustrator. I took a few so-called illustration courses in college. But they weren't instructional, so I learned how to illustrate on my own by trial and error. I read instructional books and studied other artists works. I learned to paint with acrylics by painting and painting and painting. But I never settled on one style because I was always eager to try something new.

Early on in my career editors and agents advised me to pick one style and stick with it. Preferably, they advised, a portraiture style or something very realistic, since my career would likely focus on books with African American subject matter. They advised me to develop a portfolio of 10 to 15 pieces of my best work—to make it my trademark. It's about branding, yes—But ack!—sameness is not fun for me and neither is realistic portraiture.

I don't want to create the same thing every day, any more than I would want eat chicken for every meal. And I love chicken!

Lately, however, I've been giving sameness more consideration, particularly for trade books. There's a good argument to be made for having a trademark style. Problem is, I'm not entirely sure which look to settle on. My personal favorite, which has drawn high praise as well as painful pans, would be this look. Some love it, others hate it. We'll see.

Father's Day

I just got off the phone with my 89-year-old grandfather. I called to wish him a happy Father's Day. I'm glad I did; I almost didn't.

Last year he was diagnosed with dementia. I feared he wouldn't remember me. I talk to him about two, maybe, three times a year. But I hadn't called in awhile.

The call went like this:

''Hello," he said, answering the phone.

"Hi grandpa, this is Donny."

There was a very long pause. My throat tensed. My face warmed.

"Hi Grandpa," I said again, louder.

"Hi," he said. "Who is this?"

"Donny . . . it’s me, Donny."

"Donny, who?"

"Donny Tate,” I said, over enunciating my words. “Your grandson.”

There was an even longer pause.

He didn't remember me. Fourty-seven years my grandfather, and he doesn’t recall my name? He can't remember the go-cart he and I built together when I was 10? He doesn't remember my working for him as a teenager, at his janitorial business? Our washing windows together? Moping floors? Cleaning toilets? He's forgotten about the camping trips? The big argument we had when I was 17-years-old?

Suddenly he spoke again.

"Donny! How are you doing, son?"

"Good, grandpa, I’m good!"

"How's your wife and that wonderful little boy doing?"

“Good, they are doing really good. Happy Father’s Day, grandpa.”

'I need an illustrator; God sent me to you.'

Every so often, I receive an email that looks something like this: "Dear Mr. Tate, I'm an African-American author whose written a children's book. I want to have it published, but so far, I've only received rejections. I've prayed about it, and God has led me to you. Will you illustrate my book?"

First of all, that's not how trade publishing works. Authors do not need an illustrator to pretty up their manuscripts before submitting. If a publisher likes and acquires a manuscript, they will hire an illustrator -- and no, it probably won't be the author's cousin Ensol who dabbles in spray painting the walls of abandon buildings.

I don't mean any disrespect to Christians or believers of God. I'm a believer myself. But when authors try to guilt me with God, I get very uncomfortable. How am I supposed to say no to God?

Most times authors seek general publishing advice. They're lost and need a map to guide them through the complicated and confusing publishing path. I used to respond to these emails. Felt it my duty to reach back and help, especially African Americans. That's how I got published, by the good will of others willing to offer guidance. Rarely do I respond now. Time doesn't allow, and with so much information on the internet, answers can be found with a simple Google search. I didn't have the benefit of the internet when I started out, so I'm thankful for people like Pat Cummings, Floyd Cooper, Brian Pinkney, Andrea Pinkney for answering my questions. And I didn't throw God at 'em either.

I hope this post doesn't sound mean, cocky or disrespectful. That's not my intention here. I just feel that authors who are serious about getting published will approach other published professionals . . . professionally. So if you're an author who is a believer, let it show through by example. No need in clobbering other authors, illustrators -- and heaven forbid -- agents and editors over the head with it.

Interesting thing, I've worked with several Christian publishers. I AM MY GRANDPA'S ENKELIN and THE LEGEND OF THE VALENTINE, were published by Paraclete and Zondervan respectively. I've also worked with Group and Sadlier. My religion never came up in any of our negotiations or discussions.

Oh my...

...I had no intention of displaying the cover of the book, SHE LOVED BASEBALL along the top of my blog, and especially not this big. While I did experiment with putting it on the side of the blog, I couldn't figure out how to downsize the image within the dashboard, so I gave up. Never published it. When I came back today — bam! — there it is, monster book cover, front and center.

But I kind of like it, so I'm leaving it for now.

Willie and Roky

Update

Ok, you're right, I haven't blogged here in awhile. Haven't had the time or, quite frankly, the interest, what with Facebook and Twitter and my other social networks. But my blog isn't as much a social network as it is . . . well, I don't know what it is anymore. So for awhile, I'll micro-blog here - you know, short, twitter-ish-type post, on the fly. We'll see.

In other news: I finally purchased my copy of Jerry Pinkney's THE LION & THE MOUSE, and as you already know, it's absolutely gorgeous. I had worried that they'd given him the Caldecott simply for political reasons, because it was overdue to be awarded to someone of color. But that's nonsense; he earned that bad-boy with this wonderfully illustrated book!

Five weeks following surgery, my shoulder is much better. Kinda. Seems like each time I sit down to write about how much better I'm doing, I realize it's only my glass-half-full attitude speaking. In all honesty, my stuff hurts. And what bothers me is that my surgeon says the pain should have subsided a few weeks ago. Thankfully, I can still paint and draw. But ug.

As I type this post, my writer and illustrator friends are hanging out at the TLA (Texas Library Association) conference in San Antonio. At 11:46 p.m., they're probably gathered for dinner and late night drinks, chatting the trade book business, excited about famous author sightings, and bragging about the ARCs collected from the exhibit floor.

I didn't go this year. Why? Many reasons: A heavy illustration schedule; a desire to finish my picture book dummy; my weak arm; my mom's long awaited arrival. Just wasn't a good time for me. But guess what. I'm not sorry. My picture book dummy turned out nice. Got my house cleaned up for mom's visit. Got a good start on a nice little EDU book for Scholastic. I'll go to the conference next year. It will be in Austin, and I'll have two new books out.

Trying to draw two weeks after shoulder surgery

I don't know how I injured my labrum, cartilage that lines and pads the shoulder joint, but sometime during the past 5 years, I did. Tore in three places, both shoulders. I'm told this type of injury is frequent among baseball pitchers and car accident victims. But I haven't been in any serious accidents — knock on wood — and baseball has never been a part of my vocabulary, other than occasional catch with my son.

On the morning of the surgery, the anesthesiologist explained the nerve block procedure he'd use to put me under. Then he told me, almost jokingly, how much pain I'd have afterward. "This won't be a walk through the park," he said, like I was silly to even consider having such a painful operation. "This is one of the most painful surgeries to have."

No doubt he was right. This surgery has been the most painful experience of my life. Had I known about the pain, I wouldn't have had the surgery. Before the surgery, the pain was nagging. But now it's fierce! I don't do pain well. Guess that explains why my surgeon never mentioned it.

The procedure itself was no big deal. After a hospital technician hooked me up to an IV, we discussed bodybuilding and powerlifting (yes, she was a powerlifter). Before I knew what was happening, I found myself waking up groggy, next to my wife and a nurse, who were trying to rig my arm into a sling.

The nerve block rendered my arm numb for 24 hours. My arm felt dead. I couldn't move my fingers or feel my wife's touch. After several hours, I grew impatient waiting to get my feeling back. But when that happened, my shoulder and arm burned like fire. My hand swelled so fat, my son kept giving me compliments on how "smooth and young" my fingers looked.

The night after the numbness wore off, I slept upright on a chair in the family room. But I couldn't fall asleep. I just couldn't get comfortable. The sling was awkward, but without it my arm felt like it was hanging from my shoulder by a hot nerve. Pain, pain, pain! And as each day passed, things got worse. The chair caused neck and back pain. Finally I started sleeping in the bed, but if I turned in my sleep and made the wrong movement, the pain caused me to awake myself — and my wife — to an involuntary yell.

The first couple of days following surgery, I was on Vicodin. But I stopped taking it because the stuff made me drunk. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being intoxicated from time to time. In fact, against my wife's wishes, I oftentimes get myself that way intentionally. But Vicodin puts me to sleep, too. So finally, I started using over-the-counter Tylenol, and just tolerated the pain best I could.

My doctor prescribed a series of gentle exercises that would prevent my shoulder from getting stiff, but he warned not to lift my arm any higher than my waist. I wish. Thing is, 11 days after surgery, my arm still dangles from my shoulder, limp like a spaghetti noodle, when it's not in a sling. I couldn't lift it as high as my waist even if I wanted to.

On Friday, I started trying to draw again. It hurt like heck, and I couldn't do it for long, but I was able to make some legible chicken scratches. And I drew all day today, too. According to my doctor, it will be several weeks before the pain subsides, so he told me to get used to it and to "draw around it. "

It will be at least another 7 weeks before my shoulder is healed enough for me to draw normally, but my wife says, after looking at my sketches, "You draw better than me even with an injured arm."

Sweet.

Doodling in Photoshop

I started training on a Mac in the early 90s. At the time, I was working as a publication designer for an educational publishing company. As the art department made the transition from drawing board to computers, we had many discussions about how the computer would affect the future of commercial art. We knew the future would never be the same. No more Zip-A-Tone or Letraset. No more rapidographs for ruling lines. No more Amberlith cutting for prepress. No more hot waxers. Have I aged myself?

Although we all agreed the computer would change production art, none of us believed it would ever replace pens, pencils, brushes, paint. Even early versions of Painter — which I dabbled with a little — didn't produce anything that remotely resembled natural media. But that has certainly changed.

I use Adobe Illustrator every day in my work. I have since day one, and I love it. I've used Photoshop and Painter to create special effects in my illustrations, too. And I've used Painter's clone technique to make a photo look hand painted. But I hadn't had any real success freehand painting on the computer, mimicking natural media — paint, chalk or pencil. I just couldn't wrap my mind around the concept of digital brushes. But suddenly, I'm coming around. With a point in the right direction from the amazing CY, freehand sketching and painting in Photoshop is starting to make more sense. I doodled the above with digital brushes that mimic pencils, using my Wacom. I didn't say it was a good example, so stop laughing. Plus I do all my digital work with my left hand — long story — even though I'm right handed. But I'm on my way.

New work: Governor candidates and their hair

This is a recent illustration that ran in Saturday's paper. It's for a Features story about the Texas governor candidates, their hair, and what it says about them.

I was happy with the end result, thought I captured the likenesses well. I was a little nervous, though. Politics these days are so . . . touchy. Have you read the comments section of any online news story? Pure evil lives there. Figured I'd get a bunch of hate mail from readers unhappy with how I portrayed their political heroes. Thankfully, that didn't happen. As far as I know of.

Pictured are Governor Rick Perry (whose hair has it's own twitter account), Kay Bailey Hutchison, Debra Medina, Farouk Shami grasping a hot comb, Bill White.

I rendered this with Adobe illustrator and added brush effects in Photoshop.

Workin' my manuscript

The other day, my lit agent sends an editorial letter to me along with my manuscript. He tells me to take a deep breath before I read it. Says I should read with an open mind, and then set it aside for a few days before I address any changes. He even invites me to curse him out if it makes me feel better.

WTF?

I know some authors cringe at the idea of an agent doing anything other than selling their works. But for me, a first-time author with one book under my belt, I welcome guidance from an agent and one-time children's book editor. I can rest assured that when my manuscript hits the market, it will be polished and print ready.

So I open the letter and read his suggestions, and I'm relieved. There's lots and lots of red marks! Lots of questions. Lots of suggested changes. This is good. I've been an illustrator for little over 26 years. I've been writing for 6, I have absolutely no training as a writer, other than online courses and SCBWI conferences. Had he returned the manuscript with no mark-ups, I'd have been suspicious.

I've sat the manuscript aside, but only because my hands are full with other stuff right now. I'll pick it up again later this week. I'm feeling really good about the direction this manuscript has taken, and I'm much more hopeful about my future as an author.

And he's also talked me into creating some spec sketches and paintings, so that I can propose myself as the author and illustrator, something I had decided against, preferring to focus my time on the next manuscript.

Thankfully, I'm still working

I haven't posted any work lately, so here goes. The above illustration is for the Effa Manley book that I finished last September. I recently received color proofs, and I'm happy with how the book is turning out. It will publish with HarperCollins later this year.







The above are 2 of 8 images I recently created for National Geographic Kids.







Above: 3 of 11 paintings I created for a friend's business, Kingdom Calling.



Above: A poster image for the Take 190 West Arts Festival.






Above: Two of many, many, many images created for National Geographic.

SCBWI Destination Publication 2010 Conference

(Photo borrowed from author Jo Whittemore's Facebook page, and thanks to the mother-in-law for my favorite sweater.)

The Austin SCBWI Destination Publication 2010 conference was a total success. The speakers were topnotch. The organizers were gracious and tireless. The attendees enthusiastic and energized.

Highlights (for me): Hanging out with my literary agent, MarkMcVeigh. On Friday afternoon, after picking him up from the airport, and getting him checked in to his hotel, we sat down and discussed my work. He offered valuable feedback on three of my manuscripts, and we discussed a plan of action for getting them ready for sale. We also discussed my YA novel WIP, now at over 10,000 words, first draft.

After discussing my manuscripts, we, um, went shopping. My wife will never believe it, but I did. And I didn't complain or make a mean face, not once, I don't think. Mark was looking for vintage cowboy boots, so I took him to several Goodwill and Salvation Army stores. He schooled me about clothing and designer labels, ties, men's and women's shoes, purses. Did you know that Prada was much more than a word in a movie title? Mark is a class act. Unfortunately for him, though, Austin is more about cargo shorts and flip-flops, so he didn't find Couture anything. But I found something: THE LITTLE RASCALS remastered on VHS, for $1.00.

Other highlights:

--The pre-conference party at the home of Greg and Cynthia Leitich-Smith. The food, yum! I didn't go the the post conference party. I'm not exactly a socialite, so after one party and a full day of conferencing, I just needed to get away from people and hide.

--Caldecott Honor illustrator Marla Frazee's keynote, followed by a sit-down discussion with author Liz Garton Scanlon. They discussed their true collaboration on the book, ALL THE WORLD. I was so affected by the discussion that I will never approach a picture book project the same. I think through my picture books before sketching, of course. I plan and I create thumbnails, too. But Marla takes this process to a much higher level. She raised the bar, and I spent much of the evening considering how I need to change my work habits to reach that level. I was amazed by Liz. I already knew she was talented. I've had the honor of reading a few of her WIPs. But I didn't know the backstory behind ALL THE WORLD. Wow, she's truly a rock star.

--Chatting with up-and-comer illustrator-author Clint Young. If you don't recognize that name, you soon will. Believe me.

--Hanging out with award-winning illustrator Mike Benny.

--Carmen Oliver received the MEREDITH DAVIS VOLUNTEER OF THE YEAR AWARD, which was so well deserved.

All of the speakers were fantastic, but I especially enjoyed Lisa Graff's talk, "Write Like an Author, Revise like an Editor." She described herself as "being a little bit goofy," and yes she was, but that's what made her presentation so much fun. You can tell she writes for teens. She reminded us to read books with the eye of an editor, which is something I've already been doing, and explains why I know nothing about the current book I'm reading. I'm reading it, but I'm not focused on the story at all, I'm asking myself questions like, "Why did the author begin her dialog here?" and "What motivated the character to do this?" You do learn a lot by reading this way, but it's definitely kills the fun of the story.

The day ended with a panel that included many successful Austin authors and illustrators, including Chris Barton, Jessica Anderson, Liz Garton Scanlon, P.J. Hoover, Jennifer Ziegler, Shana Burg, Philp Yates, Patrice Barton and Jacqueline Kelly. Each offered a golden nugget of wisdom, and I especially cracked up at the wonderful poetry of Philp Yates, who wrote and shared an ode to Austin's talented children's and YA community.

Lowlight: Walking up to Newbery Honor author, Kirby Larson at the Leitich-Smith party, and asking her, "So, are you an agent, editor, author or illustrator?." Then asking her, "What have you written?"

Great day, it was. Too bad my handwriting is so sloppy, I can't even read the notes I took.

5 quick writing tips

So this guy sends an email, asking me for writing advice. Says he’s looking for a “good older writer” to make his stuff better.

Cute.

Anyway, I’m honored he thinks I’m a good writer, and I’m thankful he offered his compliments. But instead of responding to him directly, I’m quickly posting a few tips.

1. Write everyday. Doesn’t matter what you write – stories, poems, whatever. Just write.

2. Read everyday. Yes, it does matter what you read. Read the kind of stuff you want to write. Want to write novels? Read lots of novels. Want to write poetry? Read lots of poetry.

3. Join a writers group. SCBWI is a good one if you're writing for kids. If you’re in Texas, The Writer’s League of Texas is another. But there are others. In these groups, you’ll find lots of writers like yourself who are asking the same questions, and lots and lots of published writers who can answer them.

4. Take a writing course. Now if you’re like me, you don’t have time and can’t afford one. But that’s no excuse. There’s lots of online resources that can teach you about correct grammar, punctuation and general writing tips. Where do you think I learned to write bad metaphors.

5. Um, write some more. Practice makes perfect. Revise (throw it away, start over).

Of course there’s more, at least there is when you get more into storytelling. Voice. Point of view. Tense. Story and character arc. Rising and falling action. Similes . . . on and on and on and on. Just enough stuff to make you want to tear your hair out. But that will come later. For now, simply write. And have fun!

And please forgive my typos and spelling and grammar, because I'm learning, too.

Specific advice to the guy who wrote the letter to me: Spell it out. “R U happy 4 me?” is a great way to express yourself in a text message. But probably a bad habit to lose early on, though keep in mind, all rules are made to be broken.

Acid head

I created this illustration for a Features story, where battery experts discussed tennis shoes. No, I kid. They talked batteries, of course.

I’m 46 today. I haven’t worn baggies in 30 years. And I still don’t pimp walk.

"Ain't nothing like a fresh pair of baggies," Morris Day of The Time sang, in a popular 80s song. That was my mantra in high school, too. Baggies were a style of pants kids wore back in the day. Don’t confuse them with the sagging, thug-style pants kids wear today. Baggies were dressier. Inspired by the zoot-suit style pants of the 20s, baggies were usually pleated at the waist, extra roomy in the leg, narrow at the ankle. They were worn high on the belly, sometimes with wide suspenders. I had a pair in every color of the rainbow — slacks and jeans.

The summer before my senior year, my uncle took a buddy of mine and I to Kansas City to purchase baggies at Harold Pener, an urban men’s wear store. The pants were sold at stores in Des Moines, too. But we wanted baggies like no one else had. We wanted big-city baggies!

When we arrived in Kansas City, my uncle got out the car and led the way into the store. He walked with a strut. A "pimp walk," as we used to call it. That’s where you stick your chest out, skip-step one foot forward, twisting at the waist. Then s-l-o-w-l-y drag your other foot forward while bouncing your head like you’re listening to James Brown. It’s a slow and artful cadence. Don't try this out in public if you ain't cool, you'll look like a dweeb.

My friend snickered, reached over and poked me in the back and then pointed ahead. My uncle wore a cheap pair of sneakers. His green warm-up suit was a size too tight, with one pant leg rolled up to his knee. He topped-off this outfit an apple hat, his salt-and-pepper afro jutting out in every direction, like it wanted to escape from the scene.

"Your uncle looks like he works for some kind of senior citizen pimp squad," my friend said, laughing.

I didn't laugh. Well, maybe I did, I was 17.

My uncle was a well-known barber, the coolest of cool dudes in the Black community. I loved him. He had a slightly oversized belly, just like his dad, my grandpa. It stuck out beyond his body, even though he wasn't an overweight man. He was in his mid 40s, but had been ageless to me up until that second.

For the first time, I began to see my uncle as an old man. Wrinkles suddenly appeared on his face. His salt-and-pepper gray hair suddenly got saltier. His pimp walk wasn’t so cool. I promised myself I'd never grow old, or at least not look old. I'd stay in shape. Never get an oversized belly. Never let my hair go grey. I'd always dress in the current styles of the day. And I’d never, ever, pimp walk.

Fast forward almost 30 years. I stopped at a convenience store after dropping my son off at school. When I got out of my car, guess who I saw in the window of the store: My uncle. An older Black man with graying hair, wearing a warm-up suit (one leg rolled up), cheap sneakers. I laughed out loud because it wasn't my uncle after all. It was me last month. That 17-year-old kid would not have approved.

Today's my birthday. I'm 46-years-old. One year past 45. Closer now to 50, than 40. I'm a grandfather, too, with three grandchildren. Four, possibly five or six, if my daughter doesn't slow down soon.

I'm OK with being 46. I'm still here, alive and kicking. All of my body pieces still work. I have a wonderful family, a career that I love, a bright future. And I have friends, too. I've never been able to say that until recently.

I do struggle with the belly-thing. My pant size is at 33, down from 34 at my largest. But I'm in better shape now than that 17 year-old kid who wore a size 27 baggie, smoked cigarettes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and never worked out a day in his life. I’m good. And I’ve never pimp walked.

Halloween illustrations

Just a few Halloween illustrations that ran in the paper this weekend, for a story about your scary social networking friends — people like your parents, or those who offer links to things everyone already knows about.

This isn't as easy as it looks

First off, I'm not venting. I'm simply highlighting a recent project that proved difficult. Everything isn't always ice cream and bubble gum here. It's not always easy. Sometimes it's work. Here's how it went:

They basically provided me with this photograph, and asked me to render it in a loose, painterly style.



















Here's a portion of my sketch and the final painting:















They didn't like it. They thought the girl looked older in the painting than in the photo (which, I agree, she does), and they thought, not very attractive.

So, I created this new sketch, with a focus on making her more attractive.



















They didn't like the revision, and I didn't like the idea of trying to make her more attractive. More attractive to who? I also felt the sketch no longer looked like the girl in the photo.

So, I sent this revised sketch, making her eyes bigger. I thought it worked. They didn't like it.


















So I sent this new sketch. They didn't like it.
















So I sent another sketch. They didn't like it.
















So they sent this new photo, which they felt was more attractive, and asked me to render it instead.














And I created this sketch.














The project was canceled. Not because of my work, they said. But because both photos are of a famous person, and there are copyright issues that weren't considered. On to my next project.

Again, I'm not complaining. I got paid fairly for my work. The publisher is one of the best, and the art director was absolutely fabulous, one of the sweetest people I've ever worked with.