Diary of a bum artist. 04.03.2012

So here is my situation. With the success of the lscc (london supercomicon – last weekend) still lingering in my mind I have no time to revel. Much as I’d like to bare in mind the record number of moon’s sold and the people we met I have much more immediate concerns.

I am stood on the platform at Romford station on my way up to london. I have £6.00 on my oyster card. I’m trying to get to streatham hill on the far side of London as quickly as possible. I have been out of work for 2 months. I have no jobs. I have no transferrable skills that I have recent experience in. My cv reads; freelance artist, department store Santa, actor for the past four years – excluding a brief stint back at the recruitment consultants I used to work for in 2009. My local branch has shut. Oddly, in the current economic climate (distinctly chilly) recruitment firms are finding things a little more difficult than they used to. I am living in my parent’s house in the guest room – which remains a guest room (an act of wishful thinking on behalf of all parties) my clothes are in neat piles on the floor. My computer and art equipment is upstairs in the loft surrounded by boxes from my old flat. Wifi is intermittent but chicken sandwiches are pretty regular. I have £46 in my bank account. My mobile bill is £45 and goes out in ten days. I’d like to go to ireland with my girlfriend for St Patrick’s day including a trip around the guinness factory. A quick check of cycle paths across the Irish sea proves inconclusive. They were apparently washed away by the massive waves and broken to silt by money grabbing ferry companies. I have no credit card (destroyed) and I can’t get a loan. I don’t think I can get an overdraft.

My hair is long enough to look simultaneously threatening and unreliable (according to my parents). I am wearing my Santa boots as neat shoes – which are already falling apart. My coat has very few buttons left on it as they silently burst off when left untouched. My jeans are old with a hole in the crotch and the shirt I’m wearing is my favourite circa 2002 – possibly 2001. There is literally nothing I wouldn’t change right now.

My future would appear in theory in comics. In order to be taken seriously in comics you have to … erm…make comics. This does not pay but remains pretty much only option to really break this cycle of difficulty. If I take any old job I will not finish the comics. If I prioritise the comics I will have to give away an awful lot of my stuff. To bailiffs. Against my will.

There is hope. In one and a bit months we plan to have the moon launch. An opportunity to sell the second installment of our flagship title. In order for that to happen I have to finish moon 2. Iv (our incredible colourist) is waiting on the pages to finish the colour work. Then it’s just lettering, designing and sending to stu at Ukomics. If I can get moon 2 done it should prove a proper shot in the arm for btb and mine, dan’s and iv’s careers. No money but a definite step closer. Perhaps.

All of this is my fault – so I’m trying to shake the pressing feeling of being put upon. It rarely helps in these situations. The answer is answers. The answers are solutions. All I need is an answer that will solve all my problems. Hmmm…

….. See this space.

…….. Right here?

Could you watch it for me.

With a bit of luck something might happen in it.

Porkins: Can’t Hold It!!

Never in the field of conflict has the passing of one man been so subject to conspiracy theory and conjecture. As the rebel alliance battled to destroy the Empire’s deathstar above the rebel base on Yavin no one could have expected the great loss they were about to suffer. One of the greatest pilots in the history of the Alliance was shockingly lost in the opening moments of the conflict. Here, sadly, are his final moments…

…Porkins. We salute you. And you are really not ‘all right.’