Okay, this is a desperate attempt to catch up with the lost time over the last few weeks. And a very loose theme of women of a certain age.
All staunch and upright and viewing the world, but holding their counsel.
This drawing has a touch of the Giacometti going on, a little elongated. And the hint of a real humdinger of a handbag. An essential accessory.
And every one of them certainly as loopy, and restless, and amazing as we all are, inside.
In fact I can now fully see that every face, every person I stop to look at, is as complete and complex a story as you could ever imagine. Every one of us, totally centered in their own drama, moving forward, looking back, messing it up, understanding, writing each line from inside that warm scribble that makes us go.
Impossible to do any other.
( I was going to go out today and do a whole new load of drawings to post, but it has been torrenting down with rain since last night, and whilst that is grand for all the plants in the garden, it doesn't exactly inspire me to go out sketching. And that's my excuse. )