Inky Meditation

Late the other night, I told my younger daughter that I felt like drawing. She said "DO IT!" So, after a stretch of not drawing, I got out my dipping pens, India ink, and an old watercolor pad. I needed to draw. I needed to watch that crisp black line grow across the white paper. The three drawings only got as far as a form of doodling, a warm-up act: some twitchy, loosening patterns and cartoony creatures. Surface play, yet with potential to set out dark roots and bristled vines, to dig into deeper territory.

Meanwhile, it was lovely to get lost in the line. To discover where it led, to follow its meandering path into strange places, to adorn it with little explosions of cross-hatching (had to find that delicate crowquill pen), to enter its spiraling landscapes.

I like it when a sudden face grows out of the black swoops and waves. We look at each other with both surprise and recognition. The outer world drops away. Good inky meditation.

Thanks for the cheerleading, Emma. Oh, and the paper was really white, not the blah gray of the above photograph.