This is him:
He spent the entire weekend walking around and drinking and carousing.
He doesn’t know what’s going on. And he doesn’t care.
I have many of my drawings and artwork already posted and linked from my homepage, and I have even put some of them in photo albums on Facebook. I’m not sure why. Nobody seems to look at them there. But, from time to time, someone will stop me in the street and say, “Ryan, I really love (so and so) drawing of yours. Can you tell me all about it?”
And I always answer, “Of course, if you buy the drinks. There’s a pub right over there.”
So, after several years of sitting in pubs drinking and talking about my drawings, I thought a more healthy approach would be to simply post them on a blog, with my own fresh, off-the-cuff descriptions of the multi-layered presentment of the colorful pathos and bathos to be found in these at once contemporary and for later timeless works of art.
My first presentation in this department is a portrait I drew of the first person who actually stopped me on the street to ask about my drawings. We ended up drinking pitchers for several hours, at which point I whipped out my marker made this portrait:
This guy was something else. That’s for sure. I don’t remember his name, but he looked just like this picture.
Now, I don’t normally condescend to doing portraits of actual real people. I have nothing against portrait artists – if it weren’t for them we would have no idea what anyone who died before 1850 looked like. But I am an artist, not a photographer. I get paid good money to freely express my genius. So to sit drunkenly in a bar and draw a picture of some guy who is buying me drinks is not something I relish. But, as you can see, it was a relatively easy assignment.
When I finished, and showed him my creation, he looked at the picture, then looked at me, then looked at the picture, then leaned back and looked at the ceiling, then burst into tears. He was so delighted that someone had finally recognized his soul. He offered me $4500 for the portrait right there. But I refused. I vaguely remember saying, “Look man, I’ve done nothing all day except for drink in this pub and draw this picture. The least I can do is keep the one thing that proves I was actually alive today!”
We drank for a few more hours, and then he got up to leave. I never saw him again. Though I have seen a couple other people that reminded me of him. But that’s another story.