…on my fingers – and I do like it.

I took myself out to breakfast before a rather farcical attempt to visit my mother that included chasing buses and just missing one another in various shops (but that’s another story), and was sitting trying to draw someone when my Art Pen ran out of ink. I reached in my bag for one of my trusty Rapidolioners and found I really didn’t like the line I draw with it. I seem to have grown rather attached to my Art Pen and the way it draws. I’m surprised at myself but very pleased. Now I won’t have to obsessively search eBay for Rapidoliners, instead making better use of my time and actually drawing something – or just drinking tea.

I came home and went straight to the studio and filled the pen from my huge bottle of Rotring drawing ink. I was very careful but still ended up with inky fingers. It feels nice, like I’m a real artist. Like I actually do *do* something. Not that I really think I should be doing something, but I can’t help feeling better when I am. Ho hum…

I remember when I used to paint nearly all my clothes would have spots of paint on them. I liked that too. The badge of my profession. Inky fingers feel just as good and have the added bonus that I can usually find something reasonable smart to wear. A useful side-effect of my new way of being.