Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I admire people who use colour well in their artwork.  Some people really seem to have the knack for it.  I love colour (especially as it is so non-fattening) but I always seem to use too little—or go to the other extreme and never know when to stop.

Last week, in an effort to force myself out of my comfortable little box (which was hard, because I actually like my comfortable little box) I decided to go back to an exercise I had in one of my Sketchbook Skool classes (also I was desperately trying to think of a way to cover a completely failed sketch, but that’s a whole other story).  So I splashed a couple of coloured washes onto the page (only two colours though—I wasn’t ready to launch myself too far out of my box . . . ) to see what would happen.

And then I sat and looked at it . . . and looked at it. . . and looked at it . . .

Okay.  What the hell am I supposed to do with it now?  Sigh.  Honestly I have so little imagination at times it scares me . . .

So I closed the book and walked away.

After a couple of days of  (unsuccessfully) trying to ignore this page in my sketchbook I decided to crawl back into my box, retreat to what I know best and do a biro sketch over the top of it.  Et voila!

So, trying to look objectively at it, I don’t entirely hate it—but I am not sure I like it very much either.

But that’s okay.  I’m glad I persevered. There was a time (not all that long ago) when I would have just ripped the page out of my sketchbook in disgust at my ineptitude.

Perhaps that means that I am actually a little bit further outside my box that I thought I was?  I’ll take that.

Now I can turn over the page and try something else. Baby steps . . .