My sketchbook had a few empty pages left, so I filled them with some pastel play. A new book with unbuckled, unsmudged pages is sitting on my kitchen table. Not sure why I wanted the symmetry of finishing a book at the end of the year and starting a new one in the new year – I don’t usually do new beginnings with the calendar year, but it just worked out this time. Wishing all a happy and healthy new year.
I have two of these yogurt containers full of pencils, pens, charcoal, conte, markers, blending sticks – you name it, I got it. I bought most of them in the quest for a tool that would give me some vaguely imagined yet completely elusive – no surprise there – quality to my drawings. The problem was that I never stayed with any one tool long enough to understand or master it. So my intention for this year is not to buy a single new tool and do more practicing and playing with what I have. Also to double check my spelling – “yogurht” – ugh!
We’ve had a cold snap here this week and I’ve been inside the last couple of days with a cold. I dug through drawings from last winter and found this one. I was in a streetcar that was crawling through traffic when i saw a man who looked like he couldn’t wait for the light to change so he could move away from the young woman behind him.
I noticed them walking ahead of me just as I was at the steps of the office. They were both tall with broad shoulders and a slightly lumbering gait. They seemed perfect together. I wanted to capture them in a less literal way than usual so this was a first stab at that – more colour, less form (still came out more literal than I wanted).
Afterwards, I decided to see what it would look like if I forgot about trying to depict them in anatomical form altogether and just thought about their energy – a surprisingly abstract result – would like to figure out how to work somewhere in between.
The metal rod in his hand didn’t have a ring to it. Some metals have a bright tinkle to them; this sounded like it was made of lead. Still, it was definitely “Jingle Bells” being tapped out in tuneless, flat thuds against the street lamp. I walked past, inhaling his cigar smoke and singing the song in my head.
I looked it up. Apparently, crying can make you feel cold. Or at least, there are people out there who say that they feel cold after crying, and who’ve posted on different sites asking why that is. I didn’t find any answers – at least none based on research (I didn’t look very hard either). Maybe the young man is one of those people. He certainly kept repeating his warning – and the little girl kept wailing. I wonder if his words will stay with her whenever she cries.