I spent the morning hours gazing longingly out my kitchen window while attempting to work on my drawing project. My efforts concluded with a cup of tea, my last piece of biscotti and writing. March has been a month where everything and nothing seems to be getting accomplished. How this works I'm not entirely sure. Readings are being completed, speeches written, drawing born. Despite the countless hours I've spent on all this, I have found moments to let it go and be free. These arbitrary changes are unnerving to me. What if I don't find my way back to productivity? How silly that sounds! But in truth, it is something I frequently fret about.
I disembark from the bus and briskly walk through campus. As I walk though the courtyard, I scan the area. Many people are scattered about. Some sitting with friends, other walking. Some gaze upon me while I press forward trying to think positive thoughts. A solemn part of my mind speaks. "He isn't coming back for you." I mindlessly count the number of steps I take to reach the studio. 173.
Now here I sit dwelling on that walk as I stare at my paperless drawing board. Filled with odd brush strokes where the paper ceased to exist. A dark black mark going to the left. Another downward and slightly curved. what did they form? Why are they now meaningless remnants of something grander? As I work on my own drawing, I try to extend my figure to these outliers. It's suddenly all integrated and unified. It's a settling feeling. But soon it is pulled up and the board is vacant again. Maybe someone else will give life them again soon.