Sunday, May 31, 2015
Friday, May 08, 2015
May 7th, 2015 - Thursday
I spent an hour and a half on this pattern. And it is just no good. I'm not so torn up over it, but I certainly spilt the milk. I try not to spend more than half an hour on these hand drawings as, after that time, the pattern sprawls over my hand, and becomes indistinguishable from the skin itself. (Let me explain.) There is a reason I draw these patterns on my hand: the lines find their feet on this space that is not uniform. I do not want to absent-mindedly cover the whole of my skin - approaching it as if it is paper, and I have forgotten the reason I chose my flesh over a notebook.
And it is less than that, too, of course, and I am writing small instincts as weighty decisions. Mostly, it is that I am unhappy with this. But the black spaces: this is something I hope to return to.
- - -
An hour and a half of listening to these songs on a loop, too.
Monday, February 02, 2015
February 1st, 2015, Sunday
I washed my hands with dish soap immediately before drawing the pattern; can you tell? (Yes.) Red and cold and dry. I am very sorry. But these photos feel almost clinical, so perhaps my stripped hands are a fluid extension of it all. But the blue pattern: not lines as sharp as last time, so it's all confusion, anyway.
- - -
Still moving through most-playeds (but beyond fifty now: into the one hundred most-played songs).
Almost ten minutes long, but worth the commitment.
(I just did the math: I've spent more than twelve hours of my life listening to this song. Goodness gracious.)
Saturday, January 31, 2015
January 30th, 2015
A sharper pattern than I've drawn in a while, and an undone pattern, too. (An assortment of unfinished sections.)
(This is purposeful, though.) Not a favourite, but I like some of the work on my forefinger.
I damaged some nerves in my back: not in horrifying serious way, but enough that I am unable to do things. Just lying in bed and lying in bed and lying in bed. And, last night, listening to the fifty most-listened-to songs on my iTunes, which is a strange and nostalgia-heavy pleasure. A deeply frustrating epiphenomenon, but the music is good, and drawing on my hand is good, and delighting in the odd and unpretty bumps and shapes of my hand is good. Just seeing a hand as a funny new thing, and not as a feature I abhor. (I hate my hands and I bless them, so on.)
- - -
Two of the fifty (currently fourteen and seventeen, though good cut
through fifteen and sixteen and heard together).