What’s Dad’s is Mine

So I decided I’m going to turn my attention, once again, to cartooning. Which means dusting off the Pantone™ markers, the light table, the canvases, and making my way to my favorite art store for the hot-press watercolor paper I like best (the markers bleed perfectly for a certain affect).

And no sooner do I start reorganizing my creative space to get serious, than Beta Male and Charlie Girl weaseled their way in when I wasn’t looking and proceeded to mess up what I had worked several hours to fix up.

I was not happy when I came down the stairs and saw the light on in my studio, which told me No, They Are In Fact Not In Bed. I had some serious Dad loaded in the chamber for this bit of insubordination. Both barrells, locked and loaded.

Until I got closer and saw the two of them working like elves on the light table. Quietly. Together. And furiously too. They had rifled through one of the piles of cartoons I had yet to file and, each one choosing a favorite, set about the heavy concentration required to trace them in their own hand.

I’m glad I saw it before I made a fool of myself, chastising them for something they couldn’t have known was A Rule (see: don’t touch anything in my studio…especially anything having to do with drawing…and we’ll all get along fine.)

What I decided was much better than any rule was the way they injected themselves into my space to do what I do and show off their talents (I snuck back upstairs and was sufficiently surprised and duly impressed when they ran in to show me their original copied art).

I think the New Rule is you have to be So Cute I Can’t Stand It if you’re going to commandeer anything in my studio.