|"Belay that Sharpie!" Gnome says in a|
somewhat pirate-like manner.
He can be a little bossy.
The last time I used the steel nib had to be either in college or High School ~ it's all a blur after Kindergarten really. I'd played with them on and off throughout the years since then, but not to sketch. Maybe I didn't have a hand for the medium back then, as it was frustrating to draw anything without the random ink splotch, marring an otherwise beautiful image. Even trying to fix the splotch was futile as it was only made worse in doing so. It couldn't really be erased and trying to hide it in a shaded area did little good. Even if there was some measure of success in burying a mistake, you'd know it was there taunting. Like The Tell-Tale Heart. Alright, maybe not that extreme, but enough to annoy a perfectionista.
Lately, however, I am falling in love again with the simple India ink black line on paper. Perhaps I've developed a patience and maturity necessary for using pen and ink. Not to jinx it, but I've not splotched once in the past two weeks of either writing or sketching. And even if I do create one on the page, I won't gnash my teeth or cry over spilled ink, but instead embrace the imperfection as a part of the visionary journey. This time around, I am enjoying the crispness, the permanence (more so than any Sharpie), the depth of noir-ity. Looking into an inky container, there is nothing deeper and darker. The Void from which all things manifest ~ for the artist it's visionary image, for the poet, words that speak to the heart. That is looking into the Eye of the Beholder. Alice may have her rabbit holes to fall into, but I have a bottle of ink.
|The left hand inked with real honest to goodness ink.|
|Finding more interest in the lines using the steel nib.|