Beware the Talent Monkey

“You know.” I said to Sunny. “The longer I draw, the more convinced I become of the existence of the Talent Monkey.”

Understandably, Sunny looked confused. I should also point out that I’d spent the entire morning acting like the kind of British person you only see in American Sitcoms. Why? Who knows? The highlight of this activity was when I handed her some breakfast with an exclamation of “Top hole! Hairs on a bobbin, old bean, hairs on a bobbin!”

Then she accused me of having tourettes.

Anyway, back to the talent monkey.

“What the hell is a talent monkey?” Sunny asked.

“Well, I’m glad you asked.” I said. I was too.

“I’m going to regret asking, aren’t I?” Said Sunny.

“More than likely.” I said. After taking a deep breath and assuming a suitably thoughtful pose, I continued:

“Sometimes I can sit down at my drawing desk and it seems as if my pencil has a direct connection to my brain. I can literally do no wrong…and when I’m done with the drawing I sit back, look at it and think ‘that’s probably one of the best drawings I’ve ever done.’ When this happens, the Talent Monkey is happy and is sitting on my back sprinkling talent dust onto the page.”

I paused to let this sink in.

“Other times, however, I sit down at my drawing desk and draw like a retarded chimp. This is when the Talent Monkey is angry. When this happens, he’s not sprinkling talent dust on my page…he’s literally pooping into his hand and throwing it at me.”

Sunny gave me a look that she was halfway between laughing out loud or calling the men in white coats.

The sad fact is that this is true.

If I look at my sketchbooks from the past five years, I can put them next to each other and see a marked improvement. However, four times out of ten I’ll draw something that looks identical (or worse) to drawings I did five years ago.

The worst part? No one knows what makes the Talent Monkey happy or angry.

It’s one of the mysteries of the universe.