I never left drawing, but I did find it difficult to share drawings after my pregnancy. Not sure where that came from. Was it a loss of self, a disconnect from the past, a need for solitude?
Perhaps I’ll never know for sure. But here’s the latest sketchbook:
While going through my archives, I found these pages from a 2004 journal. The brown boy and I had just gotten married, and I was resisting all the extended family’s combined pressure on me to start propagating the species.
In this angry book it seems that while I did not want to have a baby, I knew all about the details of bearing one. What a know-it-all I was.
[Sometimes in the living of every day
I often forget about the life of it
the intentionality, “the composing of the life”
that I once set out to do. The daily bustle,
that once emerged from me –
often swallows me up
until all I can do is hold on for dear life
to banal rituals
so that I don’t lose myself.]
It never ceases to surprise me how many firsts are still left in life – a new activity this year was a trip with friends who are artists in their own right. Believe me when I tell you it was most refreshing.
And here you can catch the brown boy in action.