Imagine you were once really really good at something. You went to school to study it for a long time. You started out thinking you’d never be as good as the others at it but worked your ass off. Seemed like you were living and breathing it. That and a bit of luck and you were doing pretty well for a while.

Then stuff happened and you stopped doing it. Cynicism about the seemingly arbitary prices mixed with the business of starting a life with another person and you just forget to do it. There was a small part of it in your daily life. You thought about it often but you never acted on it. After a while you were afraid you’d never be that good again. Then six years passed.

One thing everyone in my life agrees on is that I should make art again. My mother, sister, husband, best friend, dad. Everyone. They say it in different ways but that’s the general consensus. It’s been scary to think just how out of practice I would be.

Then I read about this sketchcrawl and thought I should try making art again…

(please look in extended entry) *warning! fairly large images!*

I moved a lot of crap in the back bedroom/studio/repository of office crap to get to my big box of drawing supplies today. (I found a present for you guys too but I’m not posting it until tomorrow) Got a bunch of my old art supplies and sketchbooks and put them in the bathroom. I was terrified and cold and felt dusty and gross after moving around and digging in boxes. The one place I can really relax is in the bathtub. So I made a cup of tea, drew a bath, turned on the overhead heater and got in.

Drawing my feet has always been a comforting thing to me. They’re odd organic shapes and are always there. When I first moved to Santa Fe and didn’t know a soul on this side of the Mississippi I spent a lot of time in my apartment drawing my feet and listening to KBAC.

The toe ring has been a fun addition.

I kept having to remind myself to draw the lines as I saw them not what I thought the shapes should be. That was the best advice for drawing I’ve ever heard. From this strange American art teacher who taught a class I took at Uni of New South Wales Art School. Made me stop stressing about drawing the “perfect cup” or making it look photorealistic and just draw the lines.

Cylinders are perfect introductions to drawing. A lot of intro classes involve gessoed milk bottles so the student can get used to showing light’s effect on the fairly simple volume and shape.

There was a perfect still life at the foot of the tub just for me - a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, a bar of soap, and the new shower curtain. I think I got a little carried away with trying out all my colored pencils and pastels again but I’ve always enjoyed using colors to express light. The perspective is a bit off but I don’t think it’s too bad considering that it’s been six years.

I started to draw Phunq. Who really is that regal-looking when he sits on the countertop enjoying the heat lamp. But he saw me looking at him and that meant he had to jump down and come over so he could get pets.

I can tell I’ve got a long way to go to have the confidence in my pencil strokes again. To get back to the days when I could emulate Picasso using four lines to perfectly capture the shape of a model’s butt.

I got a bit lazy. And the dog kept barking. Which woke Cody up. Who had to navigate the complete mess I’d made moving stuff getting to my supplies so he could answer the door. Afterwards he saw the stack of sketchbooks and art supplies on the closed toilet seat and he knew just how important a moment this was. He just smiled and raised his eyebrows basically asking, “So are you ok?” And I said “This is just terrifying.” And being a writer who hasn’t written he knew just what I meant.

I hope you like them but I want you to know that I didn’t do this for you. I did it for me.

Noelle is 41% Sketchy