Me,Reconsidered

As soon as I sat down to get a caricature drawn, I realized this is one of those things that is much worse done alone.

When I approached, I noticed the chairs were close together; we would be almost knee to knee. Still, it looked like fun.

Before sitting, I asked if he was open. He was, barely. I was early, his first customer in Jackson Square, and he met me with slight irritation. He unfolded his used plastic wrap, covered his Chromebook, and began his tricks.

The game was on. The seats were switched, and I was on display. We were farther apart now, him with his back to the sidewalk, drawing for the crowd.

My initial fear of sitting in a chair of substantially poorer quality than his quickly gave way to other, more significant emotions.

Yes, there was the audience and my jealousy of his shaded REI chair, but also curiosity about my “caricature-able” features, the roach crawling over his shoe, a foul smell coming from the west, and an inexplicable urge to run away.

To break the ice (mine), I asked if I could record his process (I couldn’t). He was in full control.

Just as a family stopped to judge, ten minutes into holding a smile, my right cheek gave out. I now looked as drunk as everyone else in the square, including the shirtless toddler playing in an oil-slicked puddle of spent Zyn pouches.

He asked me what theme I wanted. “What are my options?” “Superhero, tattooed rocker, beach guy, roller skater, tech-bro, or animal handler.” It was too much to process, and I had so many questions. I said, “Just me.”

This was met with a pause and some confusion. He didn’t need to tell me that fiction is much better than real life, but I heard it anyway. “Put that in your vape!” I thought, but didn’t say.

I almost changed my theme to “someone who had a bad idea,” but the Sharpie was already frantic, so I just reminded myself that I’m not that boring.

I was reading Walker Percy’s The Last Gentleman that morning, so he decided to make me a reader. Yes, a reader. Exciting fridge-door material this will not be. (Maybe I am that boring.)

He desperately needed a vape and caffeine, not conversation. I asked anyway: could he draw a face in one glance? “Any caricature artist worth a shit can do that.”

Again, taking no cues from this obvious night owl, I asked, “Who is the hardest to draw?” He said, “Those with pear-shaped faces with slits for mouths.”

Right as I was reaching for my wallet to shut this whole thing down, he said, “Those used to be the hardest. But now I see people, and I can draw everyone. We are all aware of things, but people fail at seeing.”

He rolled the art and sealed it with four pieces of Scotch tape, each placed with painful care. I asked how much I owed him. “It’s free.” In keeping with Napoleonic law, I gave him a gift, too. One of my “I Loved” pins.

He immediately said, “I don’t vote.”