I made a rough sketch in my sketchbook and a beautiful woman just fell in love with her, so I created a larger charcoal piece for her.
She’s going to be posted to her new home this week and my customer is DEEPLY happy with her. <3
UPDATE:
She arrived safely at her new home, and I got the most beautiful message from my customer. As an artist we are usually our worst critics, and many times it surprises me when someone tells me they love a piece I had done.
When the intention was to only express myself. When I just felt the need to put paint, charcoal, pencil, pen to paper.
You see, for me art is like breathing, I have to feel the artist tool in my hands, and its like everything in my body just relaxes and moves into a space of peace. Its like I can breathe again after I had been gasping for air.
The call of the colours, the smells, the sounds, the feel of the textures and whatever I feel that needs to come out becomes loud and I can feel my entire body tensing up. And perhaps this is what leads me to being an artist. And you know what? For the first time in my life, an identity has never felt so utterly comfortable as when I introduce myself as an artist.
There is a sense of complete and utter belonging, peace and like I’m being enveloped by a gentle blanket of pure love, like the wayward son returning to his father’s home. His father welcoming him with open arms, slaughtering a calf and dressing him in the finest furs and throwing a celebration.
That’s what it feels like to me. Like I’ve been wayward for so long, and now I’m home. At peace, and safe, only the soft thumping of a heartbeat lulling me to a state of joy and peace and comfortable sleep.
Like the Creator holding me close and protecting me from the cold and all the scary things out there. That is what it feels like.