The Slow Season

Creating in winter

I am not a fan of purple. I dislike pink. Who even am I painting with both?

I’m almost done with this sketchbook (this brand). Flipping through the pages, there’s a few abandoned spreads though. I hate walking away from an unfinished page; I don’t ever feel like I’m really done with a sketchbook until there isn’t space for anything more.

To use up those unfinished pages, I give myself a clean slate. I’ll collage blank space and paint over forgotten lines. I painted over the two pages above with leftover ink, mixed with gouache. When I went to rework the right hand page, I noticed the faintest bits of an old sketch remained, a woman’s portrait. My initial thought was to slap down some more paint, but I resisted. I worked with the ghost lines, adding form that had been missing in the original sketch. I was making something new, building on something old.

There is nothing exceptionally innovative about these sketchbook pages. I didn’t reinvent my style or pursue a challenging subject matter. I didn’t try out a new medium. But I made something, even when the two feet of snow outside my window made me feel like doing nothing of the sort.

I’m reading Improv Wisdom at the moment. As someone who jots down notes before even making phone calls (facepalm), I was hoping it would be an antidote to my spontaneity aversion. The book is a great read, quick and pithy, exactly what the doctor ordered. And in terms of art-making, there’s lots of food for thought. It’s made me realize that so much of improvisation is often just doing something. It might not be the right thing, or the perfect thing, but it’s a start.

January felt exceptionally long. The compulsion to bury under the covers and do nothing is strong. And when doable, I’ve cut myself some slack. Gardens lay fallow for stretches of the year, why shouldn’t humans? Beyond the day to day responsibilities, perhaps January is not the time to be particularly ambitious, but to pause. It doesn’t seem that humans were ever meant to be powered on 24/7, operating at peak condition.

I noticed yesterday afternoon the birdsong has returned. That and the slowly increasing light is a welcome sight. It’ll be a long time before the birds begin building nests in earnest, laying eggs, raising fledglings. But they are singing; that much is undeniable. They are doing something, even if the windchill would tell them to do nothing.

That sun? What a relief to see it hovering there, just a little later each day. In the face of sub-zero temperatures it feels wonderfully pugnacious.