It wasn’t so long ago while attending Angoulême that I was pompously telling a fellow cartoonist that I could never work completely digitally as it lacked the tactile qualities of applying pencil and pen to paper. Those traditional tools were a link to my love of drawing as a child, lying on my stomach on the living room carpet with lined paper and a fistful of felt tips scratching out X-Wing battles. There was no pleasure in tapping a stylus on glass, I blathered on at length. The fellow cartoonist smiled, recognising a kindred spirit. We shook hands and exchanged brush pen recommendations. We were brothers bonded by ink and white out, calouses and paper cuts.

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