The penciled affair

I have been having an affair.   With this handsome box of 72 Derwent Coloursfot pencils I met at Jerry's Artarama .

I was lured by a 20% off coupon and tales of a suburban art supply wonderland .  Suburban it was.  But wondrous?  You have no idea. 

The minute I saw the sets of thick natural paint brushes - three steps past the front door - I knew I was a fallen woman.  And sly.  Told my beloved to give me some space: "I can't concentrate with you looking over my shoulder like that.  Go look around or go wait in the car.  I'll find you when I am done."

I used my don't mess-with-me-I-have-claws tone of voice.  I hinted at prior agreements to give each other's space in the relationship.   Mumbled a veiled threat about stress at work.  We wouldn't want me to have a nervous breakdown in the calligraphy aisle now would we?

Of course we wouldn't.  I was free to plunder the motherload, pile sketchbooks, ink, pencils, tortillons and rolls of paper in my blue shopping cart.  I could squeeze the tubes of acrylic with impunity, inspect the accuracy of the compasses, check the firmness of the erasors and try the colour pencils.

Oh the pencils!

I tried to resist.  I did.  I reminded myself of the six boxes of colored pencils I have taken in over the years, of the emotional and physical toll of carrying a full set of  Koh-I-Noor woodless Progresso pencils with me to work every day.  I did my best to recall the disappointing courtship of that set of 24 Prismacolor Premier pencils that failed to deliver.  And what about the loss of that vintage Berol azure Colourcraft that had belonged to my ex-husband.  Was I truly ready for the responsibilities, the ups and downs of another relationship?

I was ready for the thrill. 

The pencil box and I have been spending lots of time together.  We've met for breakfast every morning this week and we've played long into the night.  We've even spent some time in bed together and it was glorious. We've had to have the talk about boundaries already. All pencils must return to their box before the lights are off and there must be space enough on the dining room table for me to eat. 

And no calls during the day.  I will not drive home for lunch for a quick color-tryst.

Or if I do, it'll be only once, for a quick burst of orange with a touch of purple and maybe a dab of sienna. Nothing too serious.  Nothing like a bite of the forbidden apple.  Right?

Winners!

We did win the Whole Earth Provisions Co's coloring contest after all.  Look at us, proud artists, collecting our $50 gift certificate at the store yesterday.

We spent our prize money on Christmas gifts.  Goodness and abundance are flowing things.  No need to hang on to abundance.  We are spreaders.

We were just happy to have given our competitives little selves a joyful ride.  Actually, we are already on to our next enterprise: the Gingerbread Olympics, a feverish weekend of baking and sticky assemby selflessly dedicated to the glory of candied architecture.  Yummy-O.

Color Contest

Check this out: Isabel and I entered the Whole Earth Company coloring contest.  We labored for half an afternoon with our crayons and gold pens to create a masterpiece. 

I delivered our entry to the Post Oak blvd store this past Saturday.   Considering our 65 years of combined coloring experience and the fact that - according to the young enthusiastic store attendant I talked to - we were one of very few entries in the 19+ category, we have a serious, serious chance of winning 1st place.

What would we do with our $25 gift certificate?  Buy one mood ring each?  Squander the whole thing on a flappy hippie-looking winter hat for Isabel?  Use the gift certificate toward reducing the price of some ultra-cool outdoor gear we could pretend we'd need in the city?  Be sensible and buy socks? 

How about that bright yellow scarf that spells "DO NOT CROSS CRIME SCENE" in black letters?  I like that scarf.  So does Isabel.  Perhaps we could co-own it.  send it back and forth between Houston and San Antonio.  She would wear it one week, I would wear it the other. 

On the long odds that we should not actually win the contest, I am posting our handiwork on this blog.  Please admire.  Ooohs, aaahs and warm admirative comments welcome.  We worked hard on this.

Studio envy

I visited the Kay Nguyen's studio this past week.  Kay is a ceramic artist.  She makes pots, urns and small boxes that she glazes in blues and browns and sometimes red.  I love everything she makes. 

I spied her drawing the outline of a very large key with orange crayons last Tuesday.  The key was almost a foot long and rusty and by Saturday, she'd made a perfect replica with clay.  "I am making a box for it," she said.  Now I want to see the box and the castle that goes around it.

But mostly, I want a studio like Kay's, a place where I could spread my crayons and line an army of tin cans filled with brushes.  My sweetheart thinks it's an excellent idea.  We could split the garage down the middle.  I would get the right side, with the door, the window and the sink and the lawnmower would share the left side with the aluminum ladder and the barbecue pit. 

I could picture a comfy Lazy-boy for thinking time and lots of wall space to hang my doodles.  I could scrub the old sink and get an electrician to restore power.  Yes, this could work.

Einstein's mustache

I’ve decided to practice my drawing skills by drawing portraits. Why waste precious time on still lives when I could be figuring out the mysteries of the nose and eyeballs?

I set out to draw a portrait of Albert Einstein based on a black and white photograph I found in Discover magazine. I like this photograph because it’s clear. I can see all of Einstein’s wrinkles, his intense eyes, his white hair, even the pattern of his sweater.

I spend a whole evening drawing the eyes and nose and another working on the skin. Wrinkles are a lot of fun to draw.  After one more evening of labor, I end up with a pretty convincing portrait save for a big blank above the mouth.

- “What’s that?” my beloved asks.

It’s Friday evening before dinner.

- “That’s where the mustache goes.”

- “Why haven’t you drawn it?’

- “I’m stuck. The guy's got a white mustache and I don’t know how to I can draw white hair with black pencils. I think I’m supposed to draw the space between the hairs but I don’t know how to do that.”

He shrugs.

- “You’ll figure it out."

I love when my darling has more confidence in me than I have.

We head out but I can’t get Einstein’s mustache off my mind. I think about it through dinner, the movie and coffee afterwards. How do I draw white? I can’t wait to get home. As soon as we pull into the driveway, I leap out of the car and head for the drawing pad. I don’t even take my jacket off. I’ve come up with a plan: I’ll shade the entire mustache area and then erase the pencil marks to create white hair. First I experiment erasing with a made-up stencil in the approximate shape of mustache hair but that doesn’t work. The stencil is too narrow for my eraser.  My darling suggests I ditch the stencil and use the cool little electric eraser i bought to make eraser marks.

The first piece of "hair" looks like a fat little ugly white worm.  Uh-oh.

 - "Just keep going," my darling whispers.

I keep going.  And after a while, the worms start looking like hair. I keep going a little longer, varying the pressure on the eraser, adding a little darker shade here and there.  Lo and behold, out comes the mustache!

I am as thrilled as Einstein was on the day he wrote his paper on relativity.

I’m a mustache genius!  My beloved is master of the eraser!  Woo-hoo!!!