the act of drawing when their is a passion for it.
|Learning to Draw
Her hands itched for the pen, the same tingling feeling she’d had before. The paper stretched out in front of her. Her fingers twitched. Her mind screamed for her body to move. The wind blew around her but was not felt. Her eyes traced the steps, her mind commanded the image to be let out. Each stroke was vividly imagined behind her eyes, beginning was pure magic. It didn’t come out as imagined, a dent appeared on her forehead, her fingers still tingled but this was different, this was how to make the picture perfect, make it the way she saw it. Finally the drawing was perfect. The tingling briefly disappeared though the magic stayed, deep in her mind. Her mind swirled and millions of images lay out for her, to choose, to try and to print. Each image related to a story, a moment, a memory etched into her mind. She slid the pen over the paper, leaving a trace of the image as though it had been there all along. Shapes became objects which grew and grew. Her mind egged for her to go faster. The joy from the image spread to her toes until they too tingled mixed up in the emotions of drawing. Hours later she’d find herself cooking, reading or watching tv, an image would appear, she would find herself tracing the picture on invisible paper. The texture of her notepad stayed the same even with a thousand images. No bumps or dips on the page, just deep imprints of her mind.