I was exhausted by the end of it, and I didn’t draw for long. It was the wind, the cold, the frenetic movement of the Prom and the fact that I’d wrestled with the first draft of my proposal all morning. I know, it isn’t the same as going down the pit or worse, fleeing the Taliban in Afghanistan, but for me with my little brain it was hard enough. I’m trying to re-learn something I could do before, though never really well. It’s a language yes, but mostly it’s about putting self-consciousness to one side and just reacting. I want it to come. To be in that zone of eye to hand responsiveness. Can I make it come? If I do it enough, will it come? And then there are the decisions one makes in the midst of it. Should I write or draw or do both? And how to organise or place them on the page? How to communicate best what I see, hear and feel? Isn’t that ever the way in the creative process? A world of how tos.
We have returned to Middlemarch.
