I’ve got some important new reporting from the front lines. They are varying, today I’ve been drawing thick lines, thin lines, even doing some shading with lines. I actually did a lot of shading today. I’m in a part of the Bridgman book where he starts to talk about shading. I’ve really been enjoying looking at my drawings lately. There’s going to be one that I’ll post on my instagram tomorrow that is only the stomach of a male twisting, but that’s the beauty of art is that there’s beauty there. How is there beauty in some twisted lines of graphite rubbed into thinly sliced trees? That’s why I say part of my soul is put into these things. If a piece has life, that’s the creators life we’re seeing. I think it’s something everyone knows but is hard to accept that the point of studying and the repetition is only to increase the likelihood of being able to breath life into a lifeless world. It feels good when it happens and at this point I’ve built, for me, a pile of enough bad drawing to be a little numb from failing those. I think the idea of being ok with failure will be something everyone faces their whole life because as we succeed, we raise the bar on what we expect of ourselves, or at least I do. The drawing I shared here recently of a man in a suit got me annoyed because I inked in the lines over my drawing and I screwed up the eyes. I think the picture can be saved still, but it will never be the image in my head so I lose a lot of interest in finishing it. It’s funny too because I recently listened to an artist talking about eyes can make or break a piece, so he doesn’t like to wait too long to do them. This instance of failure on the eyes hurts a little more than if I fail drawings, one because it’s more permanent and two because more time had been invested in it. That’s the cost to playing the game of life though. You win some, you lose some and the more I play the more I’ll win.