I used to draw all the time.
I drew where I shouldn’t have. Like, during church. I drew when I shouldn’t have. Like, during church. Or math. (In art class, I didn’t always draw. Go figure.) I drew a cartoon bird on a serving tray at a restaurant and the girls all tried to use that one.
Marie found these self-portraits just the other night while cleaning out the games and coloring books table. Perfect for today’s word, your art.
I’m not sure how horribly accurate these are, but that’s youthful me there, on the left, and grown-up me, there, on the right. (I have no nostrils, Grace points out, but a lifelike representation of details such as nose holes might prove distracting.)
I look tribal and wanton in my youth, don’t I?
In my old age, I’m docile, lighter of brow. Mellower of eye. My gray isn’t so much a temple shock, as it is in my drawing, but more a salt sprinkle on my head, in real life. There’s something primate about me too, isn’t there?