Now, with most of my studio, well my entire studio safely packed away awaiting a new destination I have had to confine my artistic endeavors to sketching.
The sketchbook I have is a nice. A thick red hard covered affair which makes me look good – always an added bonus. But the scribblings within are not the stuff for posterity. More like the idle scratchings of a mind running on empty. Matters were not helped when I procured a packet of markers from the local pound shop.
I felt a daub of colour would lift my doodlings into another dimension. The markers, cheap and nasty, did not help. The only succeeded in bleeding through the page, so that now, I am obliged to skip each following page if I wish to make a fresh start.
What’s that about the workman blaming his tools? I know, but this is a period of transition, part and parcel of which is an open license to moan.
Dumping a lot of old congealed paint pots gave me a welcome lift, so still buoyed up by that feeling I will give the markers a second chance.
Journey not destination. We will have to wait and see about that.
Still fresh starts make for fresh paintings but good ones never loose their freshness.