Well, not really. But I have recently discovered a long-latent talent for drawing. The sketch I’m including here is one I made almost exactly a year ago, after a few exercises in a book, but otherwise not having tried to draw anything for probably 15 years. I did it with a .5mm mechanical pencil from the office supply drawer. (I increased the contrast after scanning it)
I am in the middle of my second art class since then; the first was intermediate drawing, the one I’m doing now is kind of an “independent study” with an instructor - I’m working on portraits and watercolors. (No, not watercolor portraits)
A year ago next week, an uncle of mine died of cancer. Here’s something I wrote about him - and the sketches I didn’t know he made - soon afterwards:
My Uncle B died earlier this year. He worked construction in central Illinois, and looked the part. He was always sun-darkened and fantastically practical. He was tough, but had the fastest smile I’ve seen, and took a genuine interest in everyone in the family. Most of his hometown showed up at the service. He was a kind, kind man. I’d see him only about once a year at family things.
I was surprised when Aunt J brought out a small sketchbook of his at the funeral. I expected technical drawings or notes from his work. But it was a series of tiny portraits of the people who sat near him in church. And they were beautiful! They were simple drawings, but very complete, and very clean - nothing extra, but nothing left out either.
Since Uncle B died, I’ve thought about his sketchbook quite a bit. He certainly didn’t look like an artist, and never showed anything off. But here he was, capable of these beautiful little sketches. Maybe I could do that, too!
Looking back, the time after my uncle died is the time this whole Beanquest thing began. I don’t know if I’m giving more weight to drawing because of that than I should - and I have very few ideas about how to use an artistic talent “wisely.”
But I love to do it. I am a happier person when I do it. I have more patience for daily difficulties, and I’m less apt to get discouraged or annoyed all around.
I like the process of drawing. I like the results of my drawing. I like the *idea* of drawing. I like to draw with a dip pen, and get absorbed in the brown of the ink my wife got me for Christmas. I like to hold a pencil. I love the smell of a freshly-sharpened one. I read things like Danny Gregory’s blog and Russ Stutler’s sketchbook and Drawn! and Chuck Rose’s Struggling to Paint blog and half the people on his blogroll.
I was so fascinated by Kazu Kibuishi’s step-by-step illustration (ha ha) of how he does his comic, Copper, that I’m adapting it to create a “how to clean your guinea pig cage” comic for my 6-year-old son who’s as easily distracted as I am.
I’ve learned to make small sketchbooks, and I’m excited to make bigger (thicker) ones and to fill them up. Julie Neidlinger has a contest to win a custom bookplate, but rather than enter, and see if I could get her to make me one, I want to do it myself.
When I want time to myself, to get away from things, I go to the forest preserve nearby and draw the trees and rocks and birdfeeders. (One of these times I’ll try the birds, but the things don’t stay put!)
I like painting, too - though I’m only just starting, so it could just be the novelty, and I don’t know how good I’ll be, or how much I’ll like it once I understand how to use the tools.
I have always loved to create things, and I’m rediscovering that. My mom always told me that I need to do something “with my head and with my hands” to stay out of trouble. (She was right, of course.)
This “art thing” is what I love to do right now, and I’ve been excited about it for a year - which is a looooooong time for me to be excited about anything new.
So, what do you do with that?
