An art student that is desperately trying to get rid of that occupation.
A sometimes reluctant writer and secret poet.
A little womanist, a little feminist, a little dark humor, a lot of time, a little money.
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In the cleaning of the closet recently
I realized that was a retractable easel inside there.
How did I forget that?
I haven’t drawn extremely large scale in quite sometime. Model sheets, storyboards and the like don’t need be incessantly large. Perhaps the lack of need for it contributed to forgetting about it…
I extensively searched my memory for the means upon which it arrived in my closet in the first place. Strangely it didn’t feel quite real, how I’d forgetten. I thought, I would never forget that I share ownership of a drill for maquettes, or a bench pen for fabrication. How did I forget I own an easel…a very nice one, at that.
Maybe it is not important, but it seems like a reason to make time for the type of drawing I used to do, over the majority of the work I dabble in now, for no other reason than that it made me smile.
It’s not that other work does not, but sometimes I tend to lose sight of where my interests in art lie deepest perhaps because at times I attempt to dabble in everything for the sake of being drawn by the particular work of another artist. For the sake of knowing it to some degree because I try to intimate myself with their process, especially when I am intriguied by the person…I sometimes forget where my drive is when application is needless.
Maybe it means nothing.
Maybe and only maybe.
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youaintartsierthanme posted this
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