Back-to-the-Salt-Mines-Monday.

 
Luckily the temperature  stuck a cautious, icy toe above the 30 degree mark over the weekend, just in time for some work in the garage building frames.  That means framing week can't be far behind, and consequently the kitchen will be closing soon.  Anyone wanting to eat anything at my house had better get at it, because once the paint and polka dots start flying, it's hard to find a counter to cook on. And I get a little GRUMPY if I think there's a chance someone might get a splash or a crumb anywhere near my precious frames.

Art rules in the kitchen 

during framing week.

You've been warned.

In other news . . . some of you may remember from previous posts that I have an enormous hole in my artsy self where my drawing mechanism is supposed to be.

*I've just never been able to do it.  

My husband draws very well, as do each of my three daughters, and it seems to come so naturally to each of them, but it's magic to me.  The pencil never makes the lines where I'd like them -- there just seems to be a disconnect between my eyes and my fingers.

I can, quite literally, cut a much better line than I can draw. And I can subtract from a line to get what I want much better than I can apply one to paper in the first place.  My drawings have so much correction fluid on them that there's hardly any exposed paper by the time I'm finished. I'd rather do laundry than draw. Strong words.

But I've always known the day would come that I was either going to have to stop masquerading as an artist or learn to get comfortable with my drawing (dis)ability.  So I decided to take a crack at this book, which Santa was kind enough to supply at my request:

My daughters oohed and aahed on Christmas morning as they thumbed through it . . . 
I just felt my palms start to sweat.  

It's actually a really delightful book,  and in a serendipitous twist I noticed on my email this morning a link to a blog chat with the author, Carla Sonheim, which you can also enjoy by clicking here.

Once I really started looking, I noticed that by lesson number 4 she was suggesting a trip to the zoo with a sketch book, and I immediately felt out of my league again.  Take a sketchbook?!  In public?!  To draw animals?!  By merely looking at them?  Ha.

Luckily I have a daughter with a drawing degree who is also a master educator.  Why had it never occurred to me to turn to her before?  I mean, since she spends a lot of her life teaching people how to draw?  It's a valid question. 

The moment I discovered Maira Kalman's blog, I knew that I wanted to create something similar -- a blog with once-a-month posts that I could write and illustrate with a variety of things, but mostly with my drawings.  And I knew I was going to need to acquire some skills. I also knew I was a long way from feeling like toting a sketchpad to the zoo for practice.  So I sought help from the expert.

I've only had two 2-hr. lessons so far, 

but I'm really enjoying it!  

 One of the results of Lesson #1.  We'll just call it "Still Life with Toilet Paper."

One of the results of Lesson #2. 

It's the product of looking at a spiky plant through this viewfinder:

It's HARD.  My brain hurts.
But my daughter assures me I'm a natural, and I can tell she's going to be a great teacher.

I guess there's no problem with the way I see, I just lack the mechanics of how to translate what I see to paper.  And that can be learned.

I hope.  Or so everyone assures me.  Now I'm just wandering around dissecting everything I see and figuring out where I would begin to put the lines on paper.

Hooray . . .

I've finally taken the first step!

I'm going to need a lot of practice, which won't really be able to happen until after Baltimore, but with the help of a patient teacher, I may be able to realize my ultimate bloggy goal someday.

And when I do, I hope you'll pop in for a monthly visit.  

And not to laugh at my drawings . . . (except in a good way) 

How about you  -- 

is there something you've always wanted to do 
but have been putting off for one reason (fear) or another (fear)? 

Why not figure out a way to make it happen?
Because if I can pick up a pencil, 

anything is possible.

Think it over. . . 
and
Happy 
Monday!