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You sit down to write something. What is the compulsion that drives you to sit in a stifling garret, the air so humid and putrid you regret the necessity to breathe, and you type. What’s in it for you? Nothing more than the satisfaction that you are able to do it. You are able to sit down at a keyboard and make words, sentences and paragraphs appear on your monitor.

It’s the same thing when you draw. You face the trauma of the blank page, just as does the writer. Are you there to make the blank page gain character? Communicate a feeling? Or to relieve the compulsion to make a drawing, as the writer writes to relieve the compulsion to write something.  Hopefully to communicate.

Imagine you are Robert Crumb and you can think and draw like he can. Imagine you are Steig Larson and you can write like he did. Perhaps we are compelled to the keyboard and the drawing board by the hidden desire to be as successful as these icons.