I am fond of good pencils. My favorite drawing is a carpenter’s pencil. It holds a variety of widths. My second favorite is the Palomino Black Wing. The graphite is almost too perfect. The point glides across the paper. Its heft is ideal. Its extra length is a minor drawback. It’s too long for my boxes and pouches, but I like the idea that it might last longer than my other pencils. The only thing that really annoys me is the eraser. It is not a good one. It barely removes the marks I want gone.
I do like the magic hidden within the Palomino’s wooden body. I like it so much that I wrote a letter with one once. My hand skimmed across the surface of the page.
Uh, oh. I did have to sharpen it a lot though. Too often, if I am to be totally honest. But, I enjoyed sharpening new points. The blades never failed. Not once. BTW, the erasers are meant to be replaced. Not sure I will ever order new ones, since I prefer my kneaded eraser instead.
I like paper. I like writing on paper. I like drawing on paper. I like Paper 53. I like learning how to use Paper 53 on the iPad.
In the beginning I was too excited to be intimidated. I was like a kid with my first crayons. You know I didn’t need a manual, right? The best way to get wet is to dive right in; and so I did. I checked out every possible way to make pretty marks. I turned eyes into fish. I went all abstract. I sketched. I made random art. Oh, what fun!
Wanting to master the app, I watched the video. Aha! It was intimidating. I became intimidated. My doodles turned timid. Before then I was working three or four sketchbooks. Showed my stuff to anyone who would look at it. Then I was too intimidated. I snubbed my nose at Insomnia with 53 in a circle. I had fun. I had fun in living color! Then I was intimidated. I put it aside. For weeks. Then a month. Time passed.
Last night I caught up on some of my favorite blogs. INSOMNIA. I like this blog: http://www.wagonized.typepad.com. Other artists inspire me. This one does for sure. And, since I want to be as good on an iPad as I think I am on paper, why I had to take up my stylus yet again, and march forward to conquer that old enemy, Doubt. The only way I can slay it is with . . . Practice, practice, practice! Right?
Training my stylus to do what my brain and my arm tells it, is rewarding beyond measure. When I experiment without hearing my worst critic, I have fun. I work my stylus (BAMBOO) the way I once worked my crayons! So. Here I go again . . .
Okay. There is no pretending that this is a stellar drawing. I have done very little art work since my sister passed on, so am more than rusty; yet, this is good enough for me. Sheesh. Am distracted by the bulge. BRB. Gotta go fix it.
Okay. It is done. I am too lazy to scan another copy, so I hope you will take my word that the tweaked drawing is much better. So. I did the sketch for my brother, who is the only person I know who doesn’t the name of the fastest man on the planet. To help him out, I decided to send him the entire Olympics 2012 sport section of the NYT I’ve been saving for any possible future grands that might come my way. Since I could not send him such marvels in a plain white envelope, I tarted it up just a little. Hope you get at least a smile from my efforts.
. . . represents the way I feel inside. This is how life look since my sister passed on: hollowed out, like a black hole, dark, empty, flat, surreal, unreal, introverted . . .
Caring about anything beyond the basic basics demands too much energy. More than I seem to have. It’s been two months but too often it feels like two days. It’s been long enough that I’ve forgotten the passwords to five of my seven blogs. Like I care. The old me would be in a major panic. The same old me doesn’t care right now. Maybe later. Or not.
I don’t have much that wants saying. My drawings aren’t funny or annoying. Since May 5 there have been few, and the ones that managed to break free are sad or moody. And we know how death and mourning are avoided like they’re catching.Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who wants to avoid my sister’s passing and my own mourning.