This is just the kind of low threshold I need to keep my promise to myself: make more art, post more blogs, no matter how hairy things were. I've even abandoned my habit of 'care' in these drawings, accepting stray lines for what they are: unexpected vectors. I strive for spontaneity and a new way of expressing line and thought. Text is line. Line is line. The page is flat.
I know I'm not the only one who's been staggered recently by the vagaries of life and 'interesting times.' So, I'm not alone. Each of us seeks a way to return to basic principals. To core responsibilities. To reaching out, or plumbing new depths -- whichever it is that brings back our selves, our lives, our heartbeat. Here's to you, and everyone trying to keep the green shoots alive. You know who you are. You have my admiration.
Three journal pages
Are your furnishings plotting something? Sometimes, mine just have a look about them. Shifty, kind of.
... Gumby can squish himself into a ball, and extrude himself through the slit under the door.
Quiet time to read. All we really need is a puffy couch and a ripping good book. Or at least, the book.*I did not accept monetary or other remuneration for this unsolicited endorsement. On the other hand, no one offered.
