it's been a long time
As the title suggests, it's been a long time since I've uploaded any drawings. It's not due to my lack of a scanner, but instead I've hit a plateau of sorts in my drawing. There seems to be a lack of idea and creativity of any kind when I pick up the pencil. Nothing comes. No rush of genius or transcendent awakening.
The paper lies cold and lifeless, the bare whiteness reflecting the emptiness inside me. I've quite a few half-finished works and have made feeble attempts to get started on them once again, but the heart goes out of me as I make some absent-minded strokes with the pencil. I know even art requires a certain measure of dedication and a hard-work ethic, but it's hard to get started when you don't even have a point of reference (or inspiration, as some might say) to begin with. It's quite different from writing in my case, when I usually have a dozen ideas swimming in the recesses of my mind, all too ready to be birthed with the tapping of my fingertips. No, it doesn't happen as often as I'd like, but you get what I mean. I hope.
I guess I might come off rather maudlin here in the manner of my writing, but recent events in my life have thrown me a little off-kilter - which explains the mood of this journal entry. It's not too hard to tell, because I tend to write more when I start wading in the pools of melancholy - not very good I suppose, but a cathartic experience like no other (a good beating works too, but that was in another lifetime).
I'll be fine. I know I will. There is strength in the spirit when the flesh falters.
* * * *
Anyway, I've another journal set up on a different carrier. I cross-post some of the stuff I write there over here. It's not too hard to find if you want to. (=
The paper lies cold and lifeless, the bare whiteness reflecting the emptiness inside me. I've quite a few half-finished works and have made feeble attempts to get started on them once again, but the heart goes out of me as I make some absent-minded strokes with the pencil. I know even art requires a certain measure of dedication and a hard-work ethic, but it's hard to get started when you don't even have a point of reference (or inspiration, as some might say) to begin with. It's quite different from writing in my case, when I usually have a dozen ideas swimming in the recesses of my mind, all too ready to be birthed with the tapping of my fingertips. No, it doesn't happen as often as I'd like, but you get what I mean. I hope.
I guess I might come off rather maudlin here in the manner of my writing, but recent events in my life have thrown me a little off-kilter - which explains the mood of this journal entry. It's not too hard to tell, because I tend to write more when I start wading in the pools of melancholy - not very good I suppose, but a cathartic experience like no other (a good beating works too, but that was in another lifetime).
I'll be fine. I know I will. There is strength in the spirit when the flesh falters.
* * * *
Anyway, I've another journal set up on a different carrier. I cross-post some of the stuff I write there over here. It's not too hard to find if you want to. (=