While writing a story about a character who has abstract paintings around her house I decide I cannot write any more until I possess those paintings. Paintings that are not even central to the story. I think there are two lines of dialogue surrounding said paintings, but I had this overwhelming feeling that I could do nothing until they existed.
I decided to draw these myself. This is possibly an attempt to procrastinate that my subconscious mind devised. But, I don't think my subconscious is that intelligent. I probably just wanted to play artist for an hour.
I used my old, multicolored pastels that are hardly used and pretty beat up. I've been waiting for a special occasion to whip them out. So, here's what I ended up drawing:
I was trying to be artsy and combine the idea of an identity and a tree into a singular drawing. It looks like a green thought bubble that a tiny, Chinese baby conjured up, in which he is trying to spell his name and keeps failing.
This one is actually really close to what I wanted, but still looks a blurry, dying flower.
This one was going to be a colorful Rorschach test, but that ended up being really hard to pull off. So, instead I inserted this Iron & Wine lyric to cover up my failure.
I am really scared of this picture. I think it's the eyes.
My hands got even dirtier than that, but it was totally worth it. Even if the drawings end up looking like cat hairballs, moving what is essentially chalk dust around on construction paper is really therapeutic.
It's the messier version of popping bubble wrap.
No comments:
Post a Comment