Today is one of those rainy, overcast Chicago Saturdays – the kind that makes the pavement wetly audible and keeps you inside with tea, a top bun, and time for quiet reading. It’s the kind of low-lit, indoor day where I’d rather listen to Petula Clark’s “Downtown” and dream about the city than go there myself.
Anyhow, just a doodle and a song to share today. Wishing you many good times with many good books!
The word ‘pastime’ is no coincidence. I’ve been reflecting, recently, on how creative activities seem to devour the time, sometimes voraciously. I am hoping to rein in the times where I’ve crafted myself into several hours-long states of self-forgetfulness; these zones of suspension are creatively desirable, and are calming in their own way, but (alas) lives aren’t entirely made on trance states. In and around the making, there are bills to pay, dogs to walk, taxes to be done, dishes to clear.
Here is a little doodle of that moment of coming up and out of a knitting session. It’s been a few hours, and someone has just reminded me – oblivious – of the time.
In the real world, the glasses will have slipped much farther down my nose, granny-style. As crafters out there know all too well, maker-time tends to escape the dictates of clock-time. That well-intentioned injunction to work for only “15 more minutes” goes unheeded as the knitting grows and grows and takes on a momentum all of its own (if only I could harness this energy when it’s time for the laundry).
What is your view? Do you regulate or schedule your inner crafter, set times when making is “off-limits” or, on the other hand, allow it days where it has free rein? How do you find the balance between clock-time and maker-time?
My posts have been more doodles and drawings as of late – something about Spring’s arrival has back-burnered the warm woolies and stirred up some hibernating drawing energies. I hope to have more knitting news in the next little bit…like a few new FOs!
A happy Wednesday to you.
I drew this bird a while ago. Missing out on sunlight in the thick of Swiss autumn, I had it in mind to make an image for myself that I could hang on my wall and look at to be reminded of sunnier, happier climes.
The end product ended up looking awkward and spooky. This toucan appears to know something that the rest of us don’t. He is Sam’s darker and less-loved sibling.
How very appropriate for Halloween! So, instead of vultures, owls, crows, and ravens, I propose my vaguely sinister Halloween toucan.
More ink practice with darks and lights. Shadowing in comics is, I’m finding, one of the most challenging things to do. There’s a level of committing to the ink that takes a lot of trust. You can tell when a line has been demurely laid down, or not.
I have a feeling I should start studying Ingmar Bergman film-stills…
I wonder if, in all of their ambitious hurry to colonize and reproduce, bacteria ever feel the need to find love. Does their unicellular existence make them immune to infatuation? Do the logics of binary fission keep them from longing? (Would they, in effect, be falling in love with endless versions of themselves?) And if people could reproduce by splitting in two, would we still need each other?
While they don’t rely on each other to multiply, I like to imagine that the precarity of bacterial existence makes some sense of connectedness one of the few sources of pleasure in an otherwise uncertain and short life. Maybe it begins with a furtive glance from across the colony… followed by cellular fireworks.
I write this on the verge of some growing tummy trouble. I’m counting on my immune system to take care of the thing, but in the meantime, I like the image of a micro-drama unfolding—bacteria mingling and rushing to meet their special someones in the little time they have left.
This was a little exercise in inking with as minimal penciling in as possible, which feels like doing trapeze art without a net (fun!), minus the real danger. This is perhaps also a reminder from my subconscious that adequate sun-protection ought to be a concern among monks and lay-persons alike.
All in all, I think these two have seen better days.
Just a little inky doodle today. Was liking this character’s androgyny, so I decided to run with it and invent a group of Saturnian gender-ambiguous beings (with slight myopia).
This particular person happens to be stuck on planet Earth, and has melancholy dreams of going back home, to a place where stubble and lustrous Zooey Deschanel fringes go hand in hand. One can dream, can’t they?
You will also notice that they are a group of beings for which Groucho Marx is no laughing matter.