As I’ve been experimenting with a flex nib based fountain pen, I’ve sunk more heavily into ink as a medium than ever before. There’s an intense amount of pleasure derived from scratching the thin steel tip of a pen against different kinds of paper and seeing an image appear. The visceral nature of it is something I miss as a career digital artist.
So I have found myself obsessed with drawing again. I need to draw this rock, or that leaf, or anything that demands intense attention to lighting and detail. Paint allows for a broad picture view of a subject, but ink is my medium for intimacy.
There’s no fun to be had quite like a thin scratchy line.
Good also is its encouragement for tiny, loose drawings of fashion or forms.
Or I guess in the case of some of these doodles, bitty tiddy sphinx ladies.
There’s a feeling I get when I’ve been at a task for too long. It’s like I’m pulling a cart along a dirt road and the wheels have worn grooves into the earth so deep that there’s no deviating from the journey. And no matter how happily I pull that little cart, I end up yearning for the wilder trail the path used to be. Overgrown with vegetation, tiny rocks catching against the spokes and wild animals cutting across my path.
Times like that, I have to take a little mental break. The trail has to go fallow. But I can’t afford to let it rest for long. That cart must get down the road. But on occasion, I pause to toss some water on the weeds.