In which your intrepid heroine learns how to hold a book open with one hand and take a picture with the other. My Igor is a little more plump than Pablo's Igor. And that's OK. This was my second attempt to do this exercise, and it went far better than the first. If you look carefully you can probably see the earlier attempt in the lower right corner of the page. I am still learning how to use the kneaded eraser, and I'm too frugal to just rip the page out of the sketchbook.
I had a blast last night. I took my time, and I like the results. I copied a second drawing that I like even better. The next exercise might be harder: I'm to try to draw a picture the way I would have when I was a small child. It has been an eon since I was a small child. I can already feel my left brain grumbling and whining.
Left brain was not a happy camper last night. It is not a good sport. At all. Left brain would like me to stick with calligraphy and simple color mooshes on watercolor paper. It doesn't mind knitting, because knitting is mathy, and math is another language, and left brain speaks algebra fluently. (Or did.) Left brain is not happy with geometry, because geometry is perilously close to art, and our geometry teacher was the JV basketball coach. And should have stuck to coaching. Hrm. Another teacher I should probably work on forgiving.
So when I was done drawing last night, I knitted for a (very) few minutes in order to relax my hands and pacify my poor ignored left brain. And then I slept like a rock, even though I was drawing in my dreams, stitching my brain back together.
I am taking off early today to get the blood work done while I'm in town for Knit Night. And then I get to play with Fourthborn and friends. Sounds like an Rx for a good day.