I haven’t done anything this week that isn’t, well, let’s just say rhymes with clap. So today I decided that I would just empty my jeans pocket and draw whatever I found. I promised myself that I would post it no matter what it looked like. It’s not the greatest drawing I’ve ever done, but it’s not even close to the worst thing I’ve scribbled this week.
I get so frustrated with myself when I see so many people who have such style and the ability to draw something wonderful every day. I know that I shouldn’t compare myself to others, but come on, don’t we all? Sure it’s a destructive habit, but I do it anyway.
I’m trying learning to accept my rhythms. Some days drawing can be so easy. It’s like silk off a spool. Smooth. Effortless. I sit back and say to myself, “Wow! Look at that! I did that!” Other days and sometimes whole weeks it’s like my hands just go on strike. The hand-eye relationship just goes sour and the two of them just give each other the silent treatment. At some point while I’m asleep, they come to some sort of truce, or decide that they love each other after all and the drama is over. I can draw again. Crazy. I’m taking the gamble that if I just accept my drawing for what it is, it will become consistent in time. Either that or I will just stop caring. However it turns out I’ll end up winning.