Any comic convention you care to go to, you’re going to meet artists who aren’t going to make it. The people who may have talent to one extent or another, but despite this, despite a solid ability with pencil or ink or colour or structure, can’t quite get the perspectives right, whose panels are slightly off, whose figures lack life or character.

And it’s not like, given time and practice, they won’t ever get there eventually. No one ever starts out perfect; for example, one of Steven Grant’s recent Permanent Damage columns at Comic Book Resources has some cracking examples of rickety early work from some of the greats. Of course, in recent times, if your work isn’t up to scratch, you’re not getting a job with any of the major companies. Nor the minor companies, for that matter. And as the nature of comic publishing has changed, there’s no room for any apprenticeships for artists below a certain standard any more.

So where does that leave your average small press artist? Who really has the patience and dedication to devote time and resources to the craft? Everyone’s got bills to pay, and no one’s likely to give you recognition, let alone money, for slaving at the drawing board night after night, long after all the normal people have staggered in from the speakeasy and collapsed into a barley-fuelled stupor.

Unless, of course, you draw webcomics.

There’s a varied list of webcomic artists who have improved immeasurably over their strips’ runs, and provoked much discussion because of it. I doubt any of them would have improved to the extent they had without knowing that they had an expectant audience waiting for every piece of new material. Their audiences enabled them to develop skill, patience and discipline, and many talented artists have improved in a way they couldn't have in the print comics community.