Someone has to say welcome

There are perhaps a few dozen people in Manama who make a living from drawing.

On paper they are rivals. The same publishers, the same handful of studios, the same cafés that commission a mural once every few years. Every brief one of them wins is a brief another one lost. The logical move would be to keep your rates, your clients and your methods to yourself.

The ones who last rarely do. They pass on the job they are too busy to take. They tell a newcomer what to charge so that she does not undercut everyone by accident. They turn up at each other's small exhibitions, and visitors who came for one artist leave knowing the names of three. A city with only one illustrator would not have more work for her. It would have fewer people who ever think of hiring an illustrator at all.

Under the referrals sits something less practical. Drawing for a living is lonely. Nobody can promise that the new style will land or that next year will pay. It helps a great deal to know a handful of people who understand exactly how that feels, because they feel it too, and who want the whole craft to get better rather than just their own corner of it.

Most of us wait to be let into that circle. We hope the established names will notice us, invite us, approve. It almost never happens in that direction. The circle is usually started by someone who sent four messages suggesting a monthly coffee and felt foolish pressing send.

Nearly everyone says they would like a warm welcome when they walk into a room of strangers. Far fewer are willing to be the one who stands up and gives it. It feels presumptuous. Who made you the host?

Someone has to go first. The people who are glad you did will not remember that you were nervous.