When I was in my twenties, I dabbled with drawing and painting. It did not go well. There was a lot of black. And the odd figure on their knees shouting to the heavens things like "Why?"
I found those journals last summer and had a flick through. Upon careful inspection, I decided it was time for them to go to the Big Journal In The Sky. And what better way to do it than to have a ceremonial purging in my barbecue? I kid you not.
It was brilliant. I merrily sent pages of journal entries out into the world via a cloud of smoke. Then I got a tad over excited. This time last year, I was in the middle of my weight loss journey and had lost about 28lbs. I decided it was time to burn my "big pants". You know the ones you buy because they're comfy? And you can tuck your vest into them because they go right up to your arm pits? Don't look at me like that. It was a cold winter.
As it happens it was a learning experience. I learnt that Marks and Spencer cotton pants take a lot of lighter fuel before they'll at least start to smoulder. And no matter how much flammable liquid you fling on them, you'll still be left with a barbecue full of gussets. (You'll be pleased to know I now have a vast selection of iddy biddy pants with frilly bits on them that only need one peg to be hung on the line.)
Anyhoo, the reason I'm sharing this is because I sat down this week to "draw what was on the inside" and, expecting the possibility of at least a little black, I was stunned by what came out of the end of my pens onto the paper. It isn't exactly a picture of me but it's a picture that reflects what I feel about me.
Here it is...
Just so you know... I don't look like this, I've just always wanted big, bodacious hair that didn't crackle with static at the mere mention of bri-nylon.
Anyhoo, it's so good to know, we're out of the black and into the pink.
I hope you're having a great week.
P.S. DISCLAIMER: I am not advocating setting fire to things in your barbecue, unless it's your standard sausage or burger. I am also not advocating the use of lighter fuel. Always use extreme caution around naked flames/barbecues. I am simply recounting a tale of what may or may not have taken place in my garden under adult supervision. Thank you.
When I was at school, I was forever being admonished by my lovely art teacher to "draw what you see, not what you think you see!". I never understsood what the David Dickenson she was talking about until yesterday, when I sat down to face a fear (isn't it mad what you become afraid of?); drawing and painting a portrait.
When I was at school I'd try and draw and paint something and usually managed to accidentally invent a new school of art. There was my Face In A Spoon era, where every person I tried to draw looked back at me from the paper as if they were melting and reflected in a dinner spoon. My Trianglist era, where figures were basically triangular with mishapen limbs. And then my Maybe I'm Really S**t at this era, which has been the most prolonged so far.
So, yesterday, I took myself in hand. I had a little chat with myself that went something like this....
"Emma. Maybe you found this difficult 25 years ago. 25 YEARS AGO. Perhaps now you could actually have another go. You noodle."
So I dug out a photo and had a little draw/paint.
I know it's a little off perspective-wise. There's still a hint of dinner spoon about it. But it looks like a human being! A human being, people!