When I was a little girl, my mom liked to carve out time between her full-time job and the busyness of day-to-day life to sew dresses for me. If I had a preference, she’d let me pick out the fabric or pattern. One dress in particular, she let me pick the fabric—and I picked something that looked like it might not go together well. She asked if I was sure, but I was.
I like that scene in Mona Lisa Smile where Julia Robert’s character wryly announces “it’s art!” to counter an objection about what made art worthy. I think of that scene when I hear someone express that they’d like to be able to draw but then promptly proclaim that they’re “not an artist”—as if there’s a formal process for being granted permission to create things.
Art supplies can seem really intimidating, so it’s helpful to have a starting point for tools. Here’s a micro-look into some of my illustration utensils.
When you’re in the midst of creating something, there’s an anticipation you feel for seeing your vision come to life. Within that, it’s easy to rush past the beauty of the very process that created it—a tendancy that speaks volumes on life and art. I’m always intrigued by the reactions people give to seeing in-progress work. Some are fascinated by it. They look at that kind of work like a bud about to blossom. They can feel the anticipation, too.