Black ink and white wine...

On Friday night, the weather was gloomy and wet and I'd had enough of the misery. Playing some tunes, from The Death to Angry Anderson, my sketch book emerged along with a thick, cheap marker pen from the pound shop. 

I decided to start experimenting with this unforgiving medium, with the knowledge I could rub nothing out, if I felt I wanted to correct an error. I am usually so focused and particular, when drawing portraits and have to get it just right. I often rub out and start again, which allows me to draw with a safety net. Using the non-erasable marker, I began to draw John Lennon. I thought he would make a great guinea pig (would he laugh at this?), so started to draw my interpretation of him. A friend of mine asked me to draw John Lennon, which led me nicely onto the other pictures. 

In making my dark, black, permanent mark on the blank page, I began to feel nervous about committing myself to it. At first my strokes were tenuous and feeble! I cursed my inability to let go and be free! When I paint I am free, but drawing (my first love) traps me and taunts me into being meticulous.  By the way, I  personify everything!

The more wine I drank, the more relaxed I seemed with the pen... Within fifteen minutes I had my first piece!

As I reviewed the work, I was mixture of emotions. Part of me enjoyed my new-found-freedom and ability to commit myself to something I couldn’t change and the other part of me felt like I had cheated on my more particular, precise drawing-self!

The rain was relentless through the night - and so was the wine,  so I carried on with the affair...