Sometimes, you start with the drawing and then the gag comes to

The words of Sergio Aragonés — “Sometimes, you start with the drawing and then the gag comes to you in the middle of it. That is when you start working on the solution of the gag, which is composition, placing, equilibrium, and character design.” — reveal not merely the process of a cartoonist, but the mystery of creation itself. In his simple and humble phrasing, there lies a profound truth known to all artists and thinkers across the ages: that inspiration is not always the beginning of creation — sometimes, it is born within the act itself. What begins as mere motion, as a line drawn in uncertainty, awakens the spark of meaning. Aragonés teaches that art, like life, is not built only from grand ideas conceived in advance, but from the courage to begin, even without knowing where the road will lead.

The ancients understood this sacred principle. When the sculptor Pygmalion first shaped the marble, he did not yet see the woman Galatea within it. His hands moved by instinct, his heart guiding his chisel more than his mind. And in that act of faithful labor, beauty revealed itself. Likewise, Aragonés tells us that sometimes, the drawing comes first, and only then does the idea — the “gag,” the spark of humor and revelation — rise like sunlight breaking through cloud. It is as if creation itself rewards the one who dares to act, whispering secrets only to those who have already begun.

In speaking of “composition, placing, equilibrium, and character design,” Aragonés is not listing techniques — he is describing the alchemy of order from chaos. Once the inspiration arrives, the artist must become a craftsman, shaping impulse into harmony. The composition is the structure of meaning; the placing is the rhythm of attention; the equilibrium is the balance between what is seen and what is felt; and the character design is the soul — the personality that gives life to form. Thus, what begins as play becomes purpose, what begins as chance becomes art. The ancient architects, who built temples to the gods, knew this same process: they began with stone, but ended with spirit.

The story of Leonardo da Vinci stands as a timeless example of Aragonés’ wisdom. Leonardo often began with a sketch — a swirl of ink, a fragment of a form — without a plan, simply to let his hand move. From those unfinished lines, ideas would emerge: a machine, a landscape, a smile that would become immortal. His drawings were not the execution of a vision, but the search for one. In that wandering, Leonardo discovered that creation is not a straight path from mind to matter, but a conversation between them. As Aragonés says, the gag — or the meaning — reveals itself in the middle. The creator does not always control the art; sometimes, the art leads the creator.

Yet, in this process lies a deeper wisdom about life itself. How many of us, paralyzed by doubt, wait for inspiration before we act — wait for the perfect idea before we begin? But Aragonés reminds us that inspiration often waits for movement. Action precedes clarity. One must draw the first line before the story appears. The builder must lay the first stone before the structure can reveal its shape. Life, too, is a kind of drawing — we do not always know what the final image will be, but through courage, patience, and faith in the process, the form slowly emerges.

There is humility in this philosophy. It tells us that creation is not an act of domination, but of discovery. The artist does not force meaning upon the canvas; he listens to it. He watches as lines and colors begin to speak, as balance and rhythm suggest what they wish to become. So too in life: the wise person does not demand certainty from destiny but works with what is given, shaping each moment into coherence and grace. To find equilibrium is to accept that chaos and order are not enemies — they are partners in the dance of creation.

Thus, the lesson of Aragonés is both artistic and eternal: begin, even before you understand. Do not wait for perfection or revelation. Trust that the act of doing will summon meaning. Whether your craft is art, writing, or simply the shaping of your own days, let your hands move, and your heart will follow. For creation — and life itself — is a dialogue between impulse and intention, between the unknown and the discovered. And when, at last, you find the “gag” — that moment of truth or beauty hidden in your labor — then, like Sergio Aragonés, you will know the joy of having drawn not only a picture, but a piece of the living soul.