My resolution to resuscitate my inner artist has not worked out the way I’d planned. I’m still attacking my keyboard more than I am wielding my pencil, which means I’m writing more than I’m drawing, which means I’ve failed in my goal to create a balance between the two.
Since my last post when I’d unabashedly declared my desire to reconnect with my authentic self, I had gone on one of my maniacal shopping sprees and purchased several glorious Moleskine sketchbooks and a bunch of fancy pencils, convinced that all I really needed to shock my out-of-commission fingers back into action were spanking new tools. After dreamily caressing my new Moleskine for a full hour, I began to fantasise about the intimacy I’d soon share with it … the wondrous drawings I’d soon be pouring into its smooth, buttery pages … every raw pencil stroke throbbing with intensity and intention, every line pulsating with my blood and sweat, every smudge quivering under the burden of my tortured soul. My Moleskine sketchbook will be a living, breathing testament to the innermost secret passages of my very being. It will infuse wisdom into every person who even so much as glances at it. It will speak to people – audibly. It will rejuvenate long-lost passion, inject a zeal for life, clear the cloudiness of dreams, cure depression, bring world peace and put an end to poverty. It will live long after I have gone.
Yes, that’s what my Moleskine sketchbook, filled with my drawings, was supposed to do.
The reality of it, unfortunately, is somewhat different. To date, it is a 14-page collection (and I use the word ‘collection’ here very loosely) of incomplete sketches: an orgy of random noses, eyes and lips; an irate-looking old Afghan woman; an effeminate, vapid-faced male Chinese opera singer; and a pitiful, doe-eyed African boy.
So yeah, my Moleskine isn’t speaking to me yet (or anybody, for that matter). And last I checked, countries are still at war, poverty is still rife and we still have no way of deciphering the crazy stuff we dream at night.
Oh well. Back to the drawing board.
