From that phone call to the assigned date of filming, we had just under five weeks. Five weeks of nervous waiting, of pinching ourselves in disbelief, of anticipation. We completed paperwork, forms, outfit choices, declarations - poring through the legalese and fine print was probably the point when, for me at least, things started sinking in that this was becoming real and this moment was happening.

Amid it all, we continued our portrait practice.

Amanda and I threw ourselves into it: every spare moment of every day was put towards training for our biggest art test to date. As the filming date approached, the nerves continued to build. And with them, the uncertainty.

“I’m worried I’m going to turn up on the day and forget how to draw a face.” I must have said this to Amanda a hundred times, and even more to myself. The practice pile grew bigger, but it was becoming a collection of quantity over quality.

The pressure was getting to me. I wasn’t happy with any of my charcoal pieces. They were amateurish, unrefined, with more things working against them than in their favour. Was this a huge mistake? Self-doubt set in: I was going to be on this show and deliver a chaotic smudgy mess in front of everyone.

We were in this together. That first phone call was the start of a very distinct feeling: like a current or tide was gradually taking us into waters that were moving in ways we’d not experienced. Uncharted territory. All Amanda and I knew and felt was to just go with the process as it was delivered. Let’s see where this takes us.

Another meeting was locked in for a week later, a video call. In that week we ditched the small art desk, assigning our dining table in its place to give us the space for two to work side by side. We saw the announcement emerge that unveiled the show’s official title. We filmed sample videos, little elevator pitches of ourselves and our art.

And we worked on our self-portraits.

We’re looking for Australia’s finest portrait artists.

I showed my phone screen to Amanda, the sponsored post that had spliced its way into my Instagram feed. “They’re doing callouts for a new art show,” I said. “It doesn’t say, but… it’s got to be an Australian version of Portrait Artist of the Year.”

This was a show we were both avid watchers of, a UK series that stripped away the tackiness of reality TV and dedicated itself to the process of painting; a celebration of art and artists that welcomed professionals and newcomers alike.

“Oh wow. Yeah, I bet it is.”

“You should totally do it. This is 100 percent you.”

Amanda paused. “Only if you do it with me.”

And I paused too, and I looked at the post on my phone, and I gave my trademark non-committal response, the one that serves to temper the moment in a way that outwardly lets possibility linger, but really, is my mind making a hasty unspoken retreat:

“Yeah, maybe…”

Outwardly, it was yeah, maybe - inside, it was hell no. I couldn’t go on a TV show. There was no way. Me, I’m just a writer guy who made an Instagram account to house random dabblings of visual art in between doing, you know, being the writer guy. I wasn’t a real artist. There’s no way I’m ready enough, skilled enough, brave enough to subject myself to the pressures of a TV show that demands artists to perform and subjects them and their work to the scrutiny that follows.

But I saw all those qualities in Amanda. Art was her thing, always had been. Amanda has always been the artist - that’s how I knew her when we first met 18 years ago. Between the hundreds of illustrations produced in her professional career and the hundreds more produced for fan zines, friends, and her own interests on weekends, holidays and evenings, my wife is well and truly a capital-A Artist.

Yeah, maybe… And that, at least in that moment, was that.

Until a week later, when an email arrived in my inbox. The sender was Aimee, a producer at EndemolShine Australia. “I’ve had a look at some of your work online,” she said. “I’d love to chat with you about an upcoming TV series. I feel like it could be up your alley.”

Uh-oh…