Drawing

I want to do more drawing. Regular drawing. So far I only do it when I travel and when I’m alone. And I ache to get it back. I had some skill I think, some facility, but only when I practice. This longing has been spurred by seeing the drawings the lecturer from LBU does undercover and the little sketch in the back of Insomnia. My problem was I never saw what I could do with them. What could they become? They worked in my sketchbook. I couldn’t make them more than that. It was enough. So the reply is do it for yourself. Fill sketchbooks. Learn to see. And respond with your pen unselfconsciously. Let it be enough. All of it. Do it for yourself. It’s a kind of unwrapping. Letting it out. That gold. Remember?

There was less wind today as I took my early walk. The shelter on the Prom was packed with sleeping bodies except for one, an Indian woman who was sitting bolt upright. I inclined my head as I passed, smiled at her, but she just stared straight ahead. What was she doing there? Students ambled passed. Two boys played with a football. A girl with a string of gold tinsel round her neck walked on the beach, then fell or dropped ( I couldn’t tell) to the sand, taking a cross-legged position before the sea. A huddle of girls in tiny dresses lingered outside Pier Pressure nightclub barefoot and laughing with some boys.

I’m to begin my application for the a-n Bursary today. Might as well begin it. There is power in the beginning said Goethe. So be it. Meet the fear. Head on.