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Whitney Rice presents:

The Collector, 1234 Main Street, Any Town, State ZIP | 123-456-7890 | www.apple.com/iwork

November 1994

Doing Business (Naked)LIVING THE LIFE OF APROFESSIONAL ARTIST

The year before I entered kindergarten,

my parents moved the family to Parker,

Arizona.

Oh. You cant find it on the map? That is

because Parker is a mirage, a town not

recognized by the United Statesgovernment, but definitely by Circle K,

Payless, and Wal-Mart. Parker is the

place where you are pregnant by the time

you enter the 8th grade and join a gang

before you can learn the word no.

Scorpions nest in the pit of your running

shoes. The harassment from the sun

makes outdoor fun impossible; people

pay more in air conditioning than they

do for their groceries. If you have leather

car seats, your entire pants collection is

screwed. It was in this boring, heartless,

and desolate town that I started my own

business.

Continued on Page 2

...Parker is amirage, a town notrecognized by the

United Statesgovernment...

Issue No. Twenty-two www.WhitneyRice.com

LATRAFFIC:

DRIVINGMISSDRAMA

LosAngeles, CATELEPHONE

(703)599-5794@WHITNEYLEERICE

Parker, AZ

Sisters, Whitney and Alex Rice Sketch

http://www.whitneyrice.com/http://www.whitneyrice.com/

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I was an odd kid: when I learned howto scream like a dinosaur you couldoften find me practicing my new talentin front of my bedroom mirror; Idecided that red ants were the perfectpet, so I collected them in my jeanpockets; and I consumed wholeoranges while sitting near cacti becauseI thought it was romantic. Despite

my many oddities, the combination ofbeing able to draw well and my desireto grow-up is what landed me my firstjob in 2nd grade.

My mother was once an art teacher, somy sister and I learned how to draw,paint, and color in-the-lines veryquickly. We were usually referred to asThe Talented Rice Women, like wewere some traveling trio act that sleptwith the most powerful clowns in our

circus. Wed laugh at our artless fatherwhenever he would attempt to join usas we painted the Arizona landscape:What are you going to do? Draw astick figure on a mountain?! I amrealizing now that I probably need toapologize for years of verbal abuse.

I was that child who was born thinkingshe matured 45 years in the womb.

When crossing the street, Id yell IHOLD MY OWN HAND and dashin front of oncoming traffic, my 6 4father galloping after me, wonderinghow the hell he got stuck with thismidget monster. A favorite time in mylife was when I found fake, red, press-on nails in the sand of the schoolplayground; although I found only

seven of the ten nails, I pressed thosesandy things with their remaining glueagainst my cuticles and prancedaround like I had just grown a pair oftits.

Though I was painfully shy for the first14 years of my life, I acquired a tastefor attention the instant a formulabottle was placed in my mouth: feedme. Because I had no idea how tointeract with people, I often found

myself eating lunch alone in the schoolyard, while doodling in my classnotebook. I drew intricate renditions ofdogs on the backside of my old mathhomework while my teacher lecturedabout Native Americans. I noticed myclassmates would hover over my desk totake a look at what I was drawing. Iwas the 2nd grade mystery.

...I consumed wholeoranges while sittingnear cacti because I

thought it wasromantic...

The Artist Dog Drawing

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Finally, someone spoke up:

Umm. Will you draw me one of those

frogs you do?

I am pretty certain my freckles jumped

right off my nose and relocated onto a

new part of my face. I nod my head yes.

I notice how excited this makes the girl,

Crystal. I get to work immediately.

Shortly after Crystal received her frog

drawing, I acquired a significant

number of clients. People wanted these

drawings for their rooms, their

notebooks, and to hold up and saylook what I did, though they couldnt

even spell their name properly. I

sacrificed my cursive homework, my

math test score, and my participation

grade to pursue a career in business. I

was a slave to attention, recognition,

and success.

Draw me a car, with cool wheels and

stripes.

I got smart. I got cocky. Confidence

overwhelmed me.

Ok. What are you going to give me?

Shocked? Didnt think I would start

charging for my services? Guess what

classmates: no more pro bono publico.

...my mom has this pretty, gold canary

broach. Want that?

That will do.

I started a collection. I was a rich

woman: Endless bottles of fancy

perfumes, fruit roll-ups, a C-cup bra,

cassette tapes, pogs, horse figurines,

barrettes. I mean my underwear drawer

was full of treasures. I guarded that

drawer like a doberman pincher

protecting her lawn; it was the first time

in my childhood that I offered to put

away my clothing and let my mother

rest.

My mother had quite the collection of

sketch books: How-tos on drawing

cartoons, the human face, hands,

horses, landscapes, and inanimate

object. Cartooning was by far my

favorite genre. However, the cartooning

book wasnt only dedicated

to goofy characters and

imaginary animals; the very

back of the book contained

how-tos on drawing sexycartoon women. Sexy,

NAKED cartoon women.

Obviously, I knew that

section existed, but I felt like

I w o u l d b e c a u g h t

immediately if I ventured

into the details of every

page. So the section was

forbidden, by myself. I rendered the set

of pages a temple dedicated to adults

only.

My career path took a change the

instant Sam, the popular boy in school,

noticed me drawing a woman in a

bikini on the margins of my arithmetic

exercise.

Hey. Draw me one of those. I want

one.

I didnt charge him. He paid me in

attention. He paid me in noticing mytalent for drawing semi-nude, cartoon

women.

Sam became my best customer. Once a

week, I smuggled a well-folded piece of

halfway naked artwork to him. In

return, he gave me a smile. But Sam

was also my most difficult client.

...although I only

found seven of theten nails, I pressedthose things with

their remaining glueagainst my cuticles

and pranced aroundlike I had just grown

a pair of tits...

Cantalou e Planet

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Cant you do something otherthan a bikini?

Not until my twenties did I

recognize that Sam was probablygoing through puberty.

I ran out of ideas. My repertoirewent only as far as bikinis. So,naturally I broke my adult templerule. At home, when I wassupposed to be finishing mycursive homework, I would spendseveral minutes in the bathroom,memorizing every curve, nipple,and mole on these cartoon

women who were cast to the backof the drawing book. They werebent over. They sat mermaid,1950s pin-up style. They werelaughing, arms over head. Therewas no difference in cup-size;looked like cantaloupe was inseason at the time the book waspublished. I can assure you: Theauthor of this book loved hisdetail.

On the days that I deliver thematerial to Sam, I am silent in thecar as my parents drive me toschool. I am more nervous than atornado chaser. Like my pink

backpack is stuffed with weaponsof mass destruction. However,once my feet made it to schoolgrounds, I knew I was baller. I am

the leader of this town. The girlwho gets you the goods. Penciland paper for your pleasure. Aintnobody gonna bring me down.

Except for Sams mom.

Approximately three weeks intomy private mission, my motherreceives a phone call. The womanon the other end of the line saidthat she found crude and

distasteful images in her sonscloset. And that Whitney Ricewas written on the bottom right-hand corner of each drawing.

And BAM. Just like that. Mybusiness vanished. I crieddramatically on the sofa. Iconfessed my guilty company sins.My mother searched my treasuredrawer. I had to return every itemto their original owner. My namewas tarnished in the schoolcommunity. I was embarrassed tohold a pencil in the presence ofothers. My clout was no longer.

However, just like all greatempires, we fall. I picture myyoung self chatting with Romeand Exxon Mobil over a cold

wheat beer, discussing ourdownfalls and how we can rebuildour wealth.

I shouldnt have signed thosedrawings, Id say. Next time Iwill have a pen name. Like J.K.Rowling.

I didnt think the hippies wouldbe a problem, Exxon Mobilwould moan.

And Rome would be silent anddrinking red wine from a chalice,because Rome only speaks Latin.And I cheated my way throughhigh school Latin.

The Rice family no longer ownsthat cartoon book. At least, not tomy knowledge. But it doesntmatter; I had a full semester ofstudying hips, legs, necks, andbreasts. One day, my name tofame will be that I can draw afemale body with my eyes shut.No eraser needed.

Dream Team Cartoon How-To

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