Most of what I write about is what I experience or just find interesting in my own weird twisted way. Tonight I can't conjure up anything but I'm desperate to write. It's like the journal is a way I'm connecting to myself. When I was younger, I would spend enormous amounts of time sketching anything, everything. Drawing has a comforting effect on me. I like the gaps in time that happen when I'm locked into an intense project. It's the focus and concentration on tiny details, on looking for lines, patterns, shadows and hunting for ways to catch a likeness. I miss the days of walking through time with pencils, kneaded eraser and a drawing pad. Just an observer of the world around me.
Where has that fierceness for my art gone? Is it ever going to come back? I miss being her.
the Queen has lost her royal pad and pencil!...do you know where to look for them?
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