It may have been a mistake to commit to sketching every day in Lent.
It seemed like a good plan. Ideally, drawing can make you more aware of your surroundings. Zen-like, it can make you more “at one” with the world around you as you let distractions fall away, and center only on the subject and your hand on the page. It seemed like a good time, and a good way, to hone rusty skills and reintroduce a habit that has given me great enjoyment in my life.
A few days of quiet, meditative drawing made me think it was possible.
Then my crazy, hectic life got in the way.
“Oh, God, I’ve still got to draw something,” I would grumble to myself while brushing my teeth before bed. “Dammit!”
Then I’d scramble for the sketch pad, something use as subject matter, and something to draw with.
“Where is my good pencil? Rosa Parks will not hold still! Oh, hell, I’ll just draw the lamp. I don’t have patience for this!”
The string of thoughts running through my head most evenings are the polar opposite of the peaceful…meditative…let-the-worries-of-the-world-fall-away state of mind I was striving for, when I took on this commitment. The work produced reflects my lack of devotion.
Sometimes, no matter how noble the intention, real life gets in the way.