When I was a teen, my grandfather had alzheimers, a failing heart, and half of one lung. He was covered with scars and sometimes muttered at walls.
I was asked to keep an eye on him, briefly, one afternoon, while my grandmother did something else. While I was alone with him, he looked at an empty space right next to me, and whispered: "Mom? Dad? Is that you?"
With the exception of getting hit by a car, that was the most terrifying moment of my life.
I've always loved drawing on various objects! This coffee-lid is from several years ago but I still love it and have it hanging on the bulletin board near my art desk.
I feel like my drawings got a lot more dimensional and interesting once I was able to achieve variable line width. I love loading different colors into the pen and going HAM on paper that totally can't handle it. My sketchbooks crackle when I turn the pages. They buckle and heave and are exhausted from their tribulations.
