I plowed straight on into the next drawing, got mad at it, decided to switch to acrylic wash, immediately screwed it up. Plonked my fingers on the paper a few times, but couldn't get the undo functions to work. Realized that I can't do art at all and everything I touch is garbage. Kept at it anyway. Made it worse. Became the blazing incarnate of Imposter Syndrome, sitting there staring holes in the picture. My hand crawled away from me and picked up my phone and sent out a plea.
"HELP HELP SOMEONE COME HIT ME OVER THE HEAD AND DRAG ME AWAY FROM THE TABLE I AM STUCK IN THIS THING."
And then, power of the effing seeeecret*, my mother and aunts and cousins arrived in a caravan to haul us off to the North Shore for a barbecue.
I didn't get any pictures of the boy-children, because they were all floating face-down in the water, snorkeling with the sea turtles. Presumably.
MEATS
Sisters
Sunset
Mokuleia is across the road from the skydiving field. We sat on the beach as the sun went down and watched the little plane roar over the trees right above us, circle up into the sky, and drop people out. They drifted down like dandelion seeds, swooped overhead in parachutes, limbs flailing, and crashed down into the field at leg-snapping speed. If I ever pay someone to throw me out of a plane, something has gone very wrong with my life, let me tell you.
And I am out of the drawing rut! I'll take some time to shake off the self-doubt and have a fresh go at something later.
Seattle Sweater knitting progress:
Almost done with the front piece. Back piece and sleeves to go.
*I do not actually hold any faith in divine manifestation; my co-worker made me read The Secret a few years ago and it was terrible and now I blame it for everything. It's a 198-page treatise on Blue Car Syndrome.
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