My coworker commissioned me to do a painting of Bob Dylan for her birthday. The hardest part -- finding a photo of Dylan not looking pissed off. All photos show a face contorted in rage and annoyance. Maybe he hates having his picture taken. Or maybe he's just grouchy all the time. I guess that's what being a "voice of a generation" does to you.

Particularly THAT generation. Baby boomers are so annoying. I've been in their shadow my whole damn life.

Okay, the Beatles were good, for a year or two -- but can we listen to something else for a change? Even John Lennon once said that they were "just a band that made it very, very big, that's all." To listen to some boomers, you'd think the "fab four" were deities. Let the 60s die. There is such a thing as modern music.

And you know what? Boomers are not the centre of the universe. I don't even like going into the Glebe anymore. Everyone walks around expecting to get their way. And when a boomer doesn't...

"Sorry, sir, but we're out of soy milk."

...he gets this wounded, confused, sad expression on his face.

"I'm not getting what I want? But... but... that's not possible! I always get what I want."

But back to Bob Dylan. At first, I scoured the Internet for photos. None of them suited my purposes. They either showed old Dylan (with his odd little southern moustache) or baby-faced Dylan (incapable of growing a moustache). I hit the library, and checked out three different Dylan biographies. (Who knew there was so much to say about a man who mumbles his lyrics?) Finally, I found a picture of Bob Dylan sitting with a guitar across his lap. The photographer must have snuck up on him, because he looks almost serene.

Normally I just paint faces. Or abstract messes. This time around, I thought I'd push myself a little.

I had every intention of making his guitar red. So why did it turn out green? Sometimes the colours choose themselves. Dylan's music must be green, with red dots, and he lives in a sea of blue. As one person said, upon seeing this portrait, "He looks like he's underwater!"

This would certainly explain the mumbled lyrics, if not the longevity of his career.

The hands were fun to do. Hands are supposed to be tough, but I find that if I draw and erase, draw and erase, over and over, for three days, I eventually get hands that look right. That's not so tough, is it?