I have this piece I started with full gusto about a month ago, and I have not touched it in the past two weeks. True, I have been busy, moving, setting up a new studio, reaching out to potential clients in a new city … but those are just excuses.
Flipping through my sketchbooks a little while after the travelling is over is always educational. I often wish I had stopped more frequently to capture a landscape, activity, detail. But my feet have a tendency to wander, wanting to cram in more and more of the new and wondrous, overriding my hands’ desires to sketch and paint what I am passing by.
I truly, honestly hate to admit this, but I left Cuba with a sense of relief. I had let the hustling get to me, and I knew it. The worst part? I also knew I had missed out on creating a connection with probably the most passionate people I had travelled among to date. And I loath myself for it.
The end of the ski season is looming nearer, and I spent the past week cramming in hours on the slopes with predictions of, ‘This is probably the last good day of skiing/boarding left!’ repeated from one day to the next.
I am a tidy person, perhaps this is why an illustration style with black ink lines containing the colour comes more naturally to my hand. But it is also a constricting genre, both practically and professionally. I struggle to call myself a Painter – with a capital P – because of these lines.