plod, plod, plod, plod...
Here I am in my studio trying to get this drawing right for the painting it will become. It seems to elude me this evening. There is a mass of rubber bits stained with charcoal around my easle from all of the frustrated work that is not getting done, even though I am toiling at it. These ones are tricker paintings taking some sweet time even to be lines of charcoal dust on canvas. They do not even have the form of paint yet. They have to be perfect first, the right sweep of a hand or a wing in relation to the other parts. Both of them are large and composed of other pieces. I always have hope for them when they begin but I want the feel of complete satisfaction with the drawing. It comes as a rush when I look at them and all of the parts fit. Until then I erase, rework, resize, redraw and push until they fall into place. It has to be right now or I will fight it the entire way. I am not afraid to erase even an almost completed drawing if it just isn't the way it should be. Many hours of work gone in a few moments and more shreds of lines below my feet as I work.