First off, I tidy up my workspace.
I have to tidy up my workspace because, like the true procrastinator that I am, I leave the mess exactly as it is after completing an art piece. Coloured pencils strewn all over the place. Pieces of scrap paper (used to test colour blending) lying around. Layers of eraser shavings nestled between the pencils and papers.
It’s a scene straight out of a somewhat creative war zone.
Once the chaos is cleared and I can almost hear the coloured pencils heave a collective sigh of relief as they’re returned to their rightful places, I’m almost ready.
By this time, I’ve already been introduced to my subject — usually a cute pup or a regal feline — by way of a digital photo. Not a physical one, because no amount of pinching on printed paper will let me zoom in on the animal’s ear hair.
With the help of my trusty Mac, I create a grid over the image, each square representing a 1″ × 1″ box. On my drawing paper, I lightly sketch the same grid to scale.
Then the sketching begins.
It might seem deceptively simple, but it’s one of the stages that makes me the most nervous. The other is making sure I don’t leave smudges all over the paper. I have to sketch with a light hand because aggressive erasing can sometimes ruin the whole drawing.
Yes…been there, done that.
At this point, all the coloured pencils are holding their breath and watching anxiously. They know it’ll only be a matter of time before I start ruthlessly reaching for them one by one, carelessly placing them wherever there’s an empty spot on the table, picking them up again, occasionally dropping them on the floor (not deliberately, of course), and, in some cases, carrying them into another part of the house before absent-mindedly leaving them on the dining table…or the bathroom counter.
Eventually, panic sets in when I realise one is missing.
It can be quite the drama with these pencils, I tell you.
Before the colour goes in, though, I like to get to know my pet subject a little. Yes, call it weird if you must, but nothing sets the mood like a little chat.
Are you comfortable, Scout?
How did you get your name, Diamond?
What sort of treats do you get, Koda?
As long as I maintain a gentle, therapist-like tone, their voices will be heard.
In my head, at least.
It’s this imaginary exchange of banter that I hold onto until each portrait is complete. And once I sign it off, everyone — even the pencils — lets out a collective sigh of, “Finally!”
The beginning is always the hardest part because that’s when I question everything.
Myself.
The pet subject.
Even the pencils aren’t spared from my existential crisis.
When that happens, I simply walk away and reset. I suppose that also gives everyone in the drawing room a little breathing space.
Life’s like that, isn’t it?
You prepare.
You begin.
You get stuck.
You step back.
You reassess.
Then you return and carry on.
Leave a Reply