A five-minute scribble at the Wheaty tonight
The scribble got done last week. Today remembered I’d used soluble graphite (yay!) so finished it off with a wash. Here’s the important tool—a little Sakura water reservoir brush. Miraculously leak proof in my bag. I’m enjoying the new Stillman & Birn sketchbook too … The paper doesn’t strike me as too different from any ordinary hardbound sketchbook but it has a really sturdy stitched binding so you can make the book lie flat without wrecking it. Nice.
The skyvader was said to have had the body of a hare and wings of a woodgrouse. I thought something with a name like that needed to be much more imposing so I gave it something much scarier: wings of a … moth. What could be scarier than a giant moth?
How many of us blame our lack of time for our lack of creative output?
I started this drawing last week while waiting under a café awning for a rainstorm to break. I chipped away at it bit by bit during the week, and finished it today during my lunchbreak.
In a few minutes here and there, I got something accomplished. Now I have to remind myself: large projects can be tackled this way!
In her wonderful book about writing, Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott quotes EL Doctorow:
Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.
And I agree with Anne when she continues: “This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard.” If we refuse to start making things for lack of time, nothing gets done at all.
If you’re still stuck for time, here are some helpful ideas from the also wonderful website Tiny Buddha: 10 Tips to Nurture Your Creative Life: Making Time and Space.
I didn’t draw today but I did uncover a relic in an old sketchbook.
I drew this old house two months after moving to Adelaide, a few weeks after Princess Di’s car crash, a month after the city’s only newspaper (the Murdoch family’s first) went from broadsheet to tabloid, and several weeks before the building got knocked down.
While I was drawing, an elderly woman with a small shaggy dog stopped to peer over my shoulder. “Oh, you’re drawing The Relic,” she said, in a beautifully drawly English accent. Her name was Molly, her dog was Chou-Chou (short for “Petite Chou-Fleur”, aka “My Little Cauliflower), and they lived just across the road from me.
We chatted for a bit before she and Chou-Chou headed off up the street, and later that day she brought me some lemons from her backyard tree. I took them back a day later in the form of lemon squares. She was my first friend in my new neighbourhood.