Sometimes...okay, most of the time, when I get to the end of a project, or a phase of a project, whether it be a picture book or single illustration, I get the blues. And that's putting it lightly. Today, for instance, I finished another draft (what I was hoping would be the final draft) of my new book. I loved it two days ago.
Today, the honeymoon is over.
What causes sudden dissatisfaction? Is it the length of time spent staring at the same images? Personally, the more time I spend working on a project, the more I think that a smear of toothpaste on the sink is far more appealing, visually, than what I'm trying to accomplish. And that's no exaggeration. I'd rather look at anything else than my own pictures, and therefore am likely to admire anything that my pictures are not, especially something as unforced and natural as a minty blob sliding down porcelain.
Unfortunately, I can't make a book with toothpaste smears, unless I wrap some kind of story around it, most likely one involving the toothepaste's journey to the sewer, and the fantastic and dangerous adventures he has along the way, helped out by his lovable but clumsy sidekick, Stringy, a piece of floss (note to self: write this story, make zillions, retire to Portugal, spend rest of life fishing on a rickety pier and cackling at strangers).
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