It's been a hectic couple of weeks in my neck of the woods. I've had to be an extrovert at work, which is so incredibly draining after six days of people, people, people! But thankfully, things are calming down and I'm returning to my quiet corners. 

My roommate is out of the country for the month, so home is extra quiet these days. This week, instead of turning on the tv when I sit to eat dinner, I've been reading Wild (ohmygosh read it) and listening to music (Damien Rice/Amos Lee/Civil Wars Pandora, all are excellent). Then I've been giving myself the rest of the evening to sketch. I read an article once about a study on stress levels and television. They found that stress levels didn't decrease after watching television, but stayed the same. So according to science, sitting down to "relax and watch tv" doesn't always have the effect we hope for. Interesting, huh?

I finished a drawing for one of my friends this week (photos to come!), and I've been working on smaller-scale drawings in between. I love working on huge paper, but it's not always as practical as a 11x14 sketchbook. 

Yes, we've seen this one before, but I drew it again, this time smaller and in different colors. I love the dust from the pastels, but it's always strange how flat the paper actually is once I shake it all off...outside, of course.

Finished and sprayed (the fixative I'm using darkens some of my colors...ugh)

Protective, isn't she?

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating. [Pearl S. Buck]

This sculpture was also from the Rodin museum: Eve, 1881, bronze. The photo I took has a lot of glare because of the angle, so it's a tough one to draw, but it was still good practice. A bit rough, but it's about the process, right Leeana?

Trusting the process means tolerating imperfection. [Leeana Tankersley]

I've done this one before too, but not for a while. I needed something familiar and relatively simple, and hands are fun for me.

That is the great art of life, a mysterious collage of unexpected elements. Even today, we are putting down our layers, one beside another, creating and recreating ourselves. He is making everything beautiful in its time. While we wait, we must breathe and heal and grieve and become. We don’t see the beauty immediately, but as we look back, we find the art in and through it all. [Found Art, LeeanaTankersley]



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