Art and Antique

You might remember that last autumn I installed an air admittance valve in my old condo's PVC pipes, and also replaced the bathroom vanity, sink, and faucets. But in truth, these are activities that are more fun with a friend. Sometimes it sucks to be alone.

Moving is another one of those times.

I've been roping Michael Kraiger into helping me with heavy objects or anything involving power tools. But he's sick this week. So when it came time to reassemble my drawing table, he wasn't here to explain to me how he'd taken it apart in December.

Jon Babc0ck emailed over photos of his own drawing table and I was able to wrestle the beast to a stalemate, though in return it covered my legs in bruises. More importantly, Babc0ck said "Why do you still have a drawing table?"

Nostalgia, I guess. I should really throw the damn thing away.

Once—years before MariesWorldTour and close calls with dik-diks took over my life—drawing tables were a major tool in my trade. I colored comics. Before Photoshop, I'd color using watercolors. Colorists were initially limited to a set palette. I was creating painted guides for where the colors went in a comic book, and then had to go through and mark each color with its value. Y2R2B3 means blue-gray. YR means fire engine red.

I spent years hunched over drawing tables, tilted at precarious angles. And in the early years, I was also pasting word balloons onto art on my drawing table. I'd use an X-acto knife and a cutting board to cut out the balloon, then would glue it to the page with rubber cement. A little burnishing, and voila, a finished page.

Comic book lettering is now done in Illustrator. The compositing process happens in InDesign.

I really don't need a drawing table.

But it's hard to let go...