We are approaching the sweaty, sticky days of summer. The cooling breezes of winter left with the snowbirds weeks ago. It's still a nasty hot morning, though the ant-under-a-magnifying-glass sensation doesn’t start until the sun clears the tree line. It's time for a quick sketching walk in the woods by the lake.
My sketch bag is an old cloth emergency first aid kit acquired from a drug store. It’s red with a large white cross on the front, double zippered with a handle, and my added belt clip.
It contains two sketchbooks. The larger, a gift, performs poorly with watercolors but is passable for ink, pencil, and charcoal. The other, smaller version is made for both. There’s also a watercolor field kit and old film container filled with extra water, an assortment of pencils, brushes, cut-up credit cards, paper towels… you know the rest.
People tend to make way for me when met on a trail. Seeing an old man with a red emergency kit with a big white cross on it, they tend to step aside, not wanting, I surmise, to be the one to apply first aid when the geezer stumbles and can’t get up. They are right – sketching is essential to my well-being, not to mention what’s left of my older right brain.
With my bag on my hip, I found a little wooden bridge among the pines and palms, arching over a creek leading to a small lake. I sat on a nearby warped wood bench, the one with short, uneven legs buried in the sand. I opened my kit to find only one sketchbook and one indelible ink pen. No sanity saving erasable pencil. Forgetting to check my bag ruined the entire known universe!
But it didn’t.
Instead, it freed me to make mistakes. After all, I’d already made the creation of good art unlikely. With no expectations, I had a great time.
Isn’t that what it’s all about?
White Rose Heart Paperweight
by MACmedia
A Sailing Hideaway Zazzle Store
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