First Commission and DragonWagon Modification

My First Commissioned Work

              For the past week and a half I've been spending time reconnecting with friends. It's been so rewarding to spend the time to go around meeting up face to face. This is something I've been missing for some time. This is something I see happening less and less. I've been so involved with my job that this is something I've not taken the time to do. I want to do it more.

              My friend, Croix, urged me to put some of my drawings up at an artsy tea shop she works at. I was hesitant at first, but agreed. I tried to be excited about it, but there was a deep fear holding my confidence hostage. Putting it up on a wall was serious business. It was ACTUAL business. This would be me putting a price on my work, and showing the world what I'd done. At least the limited world of this tea shop. As I spread my pieces across the bar, wondering which ones to put up, one of their customers started looking at them. He commented on the style of one of my dragons, and appreciated the detail of it. I felt abashed, my throat dried up instantly, and I was unsure how to comport myself. I thanked him humbly, then he whipped out his phone to show me pictures of his snake. He was the owner of a boa constrictor named Chanda. She was beautiful. She had amazing patterns, and a change in colors at the tip of her tail. He was telling me more and more about her, until, out of nowhere, I found myself telling him I could draw her for him if he'd liked. "Who said that? Where did that come from? What are you doing to yourself?" piped in the familiar voice in my head. His eyes lit up, and he said he'd love to have a drawing of her in that same style.

              Shit. Okay. The pressure immediately set in. The weight of what I had committed myself to clung on to my shoulders and didn't let go. I was going to try to draw someone's pet, a creature they see on a daily basis, an animal with unique patterns, shape, and features. The way he described her, he'd be able to recognize her from a lineup of identical snakes, and I offered to illustrate her likeness. "Idiot. Now you've done it. Now you're committed. Now you're asking some poor unsuspecting person to give you money for your impending failure." The size of the piece was larger than any I'd worked on before, the subject matter was one I hadn't done before, I didn't know the client, and he wanted it in color which I don't do well. "You're going to fuck up. This is when you find out this was all wrong. You don't know what you're doing." As I'm writing this, Queen's "Under Pressure" is aptly playing at the tea shop. Appropriate.

              The process of drawing Chanda was grueling. I enjoyed doing it, but the voice was ever present throughout the process. "That's not what she looks like. Those patterns are wrong. That's not even the right color. He's going to hate it. He's actually going to be offended by this. If you think he's going to look at this and see his snake you're disillusioned." The color did seem impossible to match from the photos, and no matter how many angles of her he sent, the patterns seemed impossible to discern. It was an emotional rollercoaster. I felt pride in the work, but the voice kept pointing out all the things that were wrong in comparison to the actual photos. As a whole, after looking at the final product, I liked it. I thought it looked good, I just didn't think it matched her color. The style was right, the color was off. The photos showed her being more pale than I could show, more yellow, more white, more brown.

              The time of truth had arrived, and I set up a meeting with him. I walked the 2.2 miles from my friends' place to the tea shop where I was meeting him, which was more than enough time for the voice to give me an earful. It bashed my confidence lower with every step I took closer to the meeting. "He's going to hate it. He's going to hate it. He's going to ask for his money back. He's going to hate it. He'll say it's terrible. He's going to hate it." I waited at the tea shop for him, with the broken record in my head repeating incessantly. Finally he arrived.

              He brought Chanda with him. He transported her in a bucket, where she curled up snuggly. He pulled her out and I got to see her majestic scales, muscular body, and her beautiful patterns. She was stunning. After staring at her pictures for hours, seeing her full "gestalt," as he'd put it, was overwhelming. He started pointing out unique parts of her pattern he really liked, and they were ones I'd noticed and included in the drawing. He showed me the distinct coloring of her eyes, and it was something I'd drawn into her picture. The more he proudly displayed and described her, the more confidence was dripping back into me. He handed her to me, and I felt her weight, her strength. She was a little nervous about being handled by a stranger, but I really liked her. After a minute of her squirming out of my hold, desperately trying to get back to him, I handed her back. I mustered my courage, and brought out the drawing.

              He seemed to really like it. He liked the color, the style, and the overall layout. It had been based on his favorite photo of her, where she's slithering toward the camera. In the photo, her tail hadn't been showing its intricate change in color and different patterns, so I'd changed her positioning slightly in the drawing to display it proudly. He was really pleased with the piece, and I was relieved with his reaction to it. Joy. Relief. Success.

              I've now successfully completed my first commissioned work. This is the first time I've been paid to draw something. Someone paid for my efforts, and were pleased by them. I gave him a representation of an animal he loved. This is it. This is what I'd hoped for every time I felt depressed at work, thinking I was doing the wrong thing. I'm still sitting at the tea shop after our meeting, and not sure what to do with myself. I feel pride, happiness, fear, confidence, hope. I could do this. Maybe people could want me to do this for them. Maybe I could get by, doing this. Maybe. Thank you, Croix, for pushing me to put up my work pubicly. Thank you, Rip, for giving me the opportunity to draw Chanda for you.

The DragonWagon 2.0

              After all the breakdowns the DragonWagon took in the first trek, a few modifications needed to be made. The current design was not up to the task. I needed a different set up, different wheels. I conversed with Papi, and we brainstormed on what we should do with it. We decided it would be best to bring it back to his garage, and work on it there. He picked me up in Orlando, and we started loading the decrepit wagon into his car. This felt like it went against what I'd set out to do, but I needed to get this right, so I could continue on. I swallowed my pride, and loaded the rest of my stuff. We met up with a guy we found online who was selling some parts we needed, so the trip back to Palm Bay happened to go through the same route I'd walked up.

              Irony did not miss the mark on this hour long drive through my one week path. I pointed out to him the places I'd remembered sleeping, eating, breaking down. It seemed like a bad joke to pass it all so quickly, cheapening my experience so soon after it'd happened. Too easy, too quick. It occurred to me that the number of experiences we miss out on for driving our cars are innumerable. The number of sights we miss, the connections never made, the challenges never overcome are immeasurable.

              Papi and I worked on the DragonWagon as we had the first time, laughing, arguing, butting heads, but, overall, enjoying the challenges of the project while working together. These may be some of the best times I've spent with my dad. I've treasured these times immensely. I was glad I'd agreed to come back to his place to modify the wagon.

              A disassembled tricycle, different hardware, and many nuts and bolts later, the DragonWagon is ready to ride again. Hopefully this time it'll last longer than 30 miles in 3 days before she breaks down again. Hopefully now grass and other terrain other than asphalt won't be like dragging a rock, digging a trench as it moves. Trek #2 will be from Orlando to Ocala, roughly 75-85 miles, so about the same distance as the first. We'll see how it goes this time.