Padding

I was reacquainted with a different kind a pad yesterday. It wasn't the miserably familiar sanitary kind, but that of the paper variety. Cartridge paper. Daler-Rowney. Thirty pages, each 130g/m2. Pencils. Soft, hard, chalky, smudged, lines, shading.

It took a lot for me to do it. It was a mental challenge. Physically, it was easy. But I'd not done it for such a long time, I wondered if I'd be still able to draw what I saw in front of me and make it look the same. Or at least similar. And I worried that, if I couldn't do it anymore, what was I going to do? It wouldn't be the end of my world as I now it but I'd certainly feel stupid, and useless, and a failure. A failing, non-drawing twerp. It was a hurdle, one of those things to overcome, a fear to knock out with brutal force to prove to myself - never mind any other person; I'm tough enough to prove things to - that I still can call myself an Artist. I only sketched 3 or 4 things but I did it. That's what matters. I did it.

I'm glad I did that yesterday because, despite the still-glorious weather and the gentle heat, the birds singing and flitting between trees and eating the food I placed out there for them, I feel quite rubbish today. In a matter of hours, I felt the transition begin from feeling reasonably all right to feeling really not right, when the heaviness arrived. Yes, indeed - the premenstrual ughness is back. Already! For heaven's sake! So, the strong tablets, the disturbed sleep, the confused appetite.

Compared to my usual posts, this is mercifully short, but I wanted you to know that I've done one of the things I was so concerned about, and that I was pleased with what I did. I may show you, I may not. Not sure yet. What I do know, though, is that I'm very tired and still working through those bloody photos, reducing the sizes and moving them to different folders. Time for tea, I think.

As George Michael said, "Let's go outside". But only for sitting and drinking tea. No sex, please - I'm British. And I've got a headache.



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