They all lived in my head! Last week, I talked about how technology has infringed upon traditional methods of creativity and how we should remember to go back to pencils sometimes. I also shared some of my husband’s art work. You’ll remember I mentioned I am NOT an artist. To prove my claims, I’ve shared some of my work.
Graphite sketch. I imagined her as some type of AI. A Robot covered with synthetic flesh, where the details are almost right, but not quite. The neck a bit long to house wiring components, the skin too smooth without the blemishes of natural life.
Oil on canvas board.
Oil on Canvas
As I said before, I would never call myself an artist. It doesn’t come naturally to me. I enjoy painting, but I’ve never been consumed by a need to paint. I don’t wake up in the middle of night frantic because I can’t find a paintbrush, and because the desire to create art doesn’t swell within my heart the way the desire to write does, I don’t consider myself an artist. What I can tell you is that I had a lot of fun with each of these.
In the weeks to come, I hope to share some of the sketches for my book Ashborne. Developing the northern harbor town of Gripparre, where the story begins, was a ton of fun, despite the challenges. I had to consider multiple geographic features. Surrounded by mountains on all sides, the sea became the lifeblood for the citizens and the harbor became a vital part of the story. Food, culture, transportation, professions, extreme weather, piers, trade, imports and exports all had to be developed and woven into the story without dumping a load of world-building details on top of the reader’s head (no one likes anything dumped on their head, I’ve discovered. Except money. I would like money dumped on my head). Most importantly, I had to know what it looked like. During the three revisions to the book, a series of sketches, mostly drawn by husband, were created. And now for the exciting part — I’m going to share them with you!
As soon as I dig them all out.
At the moment, the easel is packed away. The paints hidden in a box somewhere in the cellar. The brushes wrapped up in a canvas apron and stuck in a drawer. I’ve stored everything for a number of reasons, two of them happen to be a 7-year-old and a 4-year-old. Shortly after I entered the room to find my then two-year-old daughter had discovered my latest painting and ‘wanted to help’. After I frantically scrubbed the splotches of highly toxic crimson oil paint from her arms, her hands, her feet, her knees, and her nose, I spent hours scrubbing it from the wooden floors. They’re a bit older now (both the kids and the floors), but we don’t really have the room in our place to support five different hobbies, so I had to pick and choose what stays up and what gets thrown into the dark forgotten world below.
I doubt I’ll give up painting or sketching forever, though. At some point, I’ll bring the easel back out again and explore some more. Months and years later, I’ll end up with some things I’m quite proud of, and others I might pass off as the cat’s handiwork. But I’ll have thousands of memories along the way and bucketloads of fun.
How do you express the ideas, thoughts and visions that come to you? Do you prefer one medium over another? Have you had to put your creative expressionism on hold for any reason?