… mad at some things that had happened around me. Things that were kind of like bits of straw raining down upon a camel’s back. What I felt was certainly legit but I also felt myself getting angrier than I needed to be. I wanted to redirect that anger. A long walk, my method of choice, was out of the option because of the cold. Yet I was determined not to do what I remember my mom having penchant for doing which was to sit in a literal and figurative dark place. I was not ready to talk about what was bothering me. There were no words quite formed for me to write. What do do, what to do. I decided to follow the advice I sometimes give to others when they tell me that they are tired of talking or that they cannot write (“I don’t know how to write. You’re the writer!”). What do I suggest? Draw. So, I sat down to draw. Now I almost stopped myself. Why? Because I can’t draw. Yes, I’ve dabbled in this that and the other thing but really even with the help of a ruler, I can’t make a straight line! Then I took a deep breath and decided not to worry about straight lines. Curves can be cool.
As for what to draw … now I’ve been having this ongoing conversation with one of my little postcard penpals. He’s my four-year old nephew living down in Virginia. I’ve been sending him pictures of birds and squirrels and such. He’s tasked with drawing me a fish. Or a school of fish. Maybe a shark. As I sat at my desk in the bright sunlight, I drew fish for him and for myself, bright colored, imperfect, smiling fish. My anger did not disappear but it came into perspective. I have not sent the fishy bookmarks to the little guy. I want to give him time to draw his fish for me and for himself in whatever colors of the rainbow he decides.
Words + Images 