First came the glorious pack of discount colored pens. Felt tip. Vibrant by nature. Mmmm satisfaction.
I was blending and swirling ink as soon as I got the chance.
Next came a gift from my favorite person:
THE DAILY SKETCH JOURNAL. I like journals… and sketches. I like them daily.
Needless to say, I kissed my favorite person a lot that day. Then again, I kiss him a lot everyday.
And now here I am, pen in hand, sketching away. I love lines that are bold. Thick. Black. Unflinching. I also like cute owls and girly designs…. So here’s day 1 & 2:
It’s amazing what a blessing it is to add ink to paper. My mother used to tell me to count my blessing when I was sad, or homesick, or simply needed something nice to think about as I fell asleep. Pretty much, I was encouraged to always count my blessings. There are far too many to count, but for now, I’ll name just a few:
Paper, pens, love and a boy who encourages me to take hold of these blessings daily.
I would rather be kind to you at your worst, than think it is my place to judge when you deserve my kindness.
I would rather care for you when you do not care for me, than think for a moment that your worth is determined by your thoughts towards me.
I would rather give to you when you have already taken from me, than only give when I am given something in return.
I would rather look like a fool for helping those who hurt me, than look strong for refusing their needs.
I would rather lose every battle and come in last in every race, than surrender to the thought that I must love less to gain more.
The indifferent are filled with power of self.
I am too weak for indifference.
And so I will rejoice in my weakness.
Be my muse so I can write a story about the way you burn toast and leave your socks on the floor. I don’t know if anyone else will think the story is any good, but it will be my favorite. I will write a chapter on how you can’t hold a pitch but I still love to hear you sing, a chapter on your blue car with a rip in the back seat, a chapter about your once red hoodie now fading to pink. You still wear it anyway because you like the way my nose crinkles when you take it off and throw it onto me.
Two chapters will tell about staying up ‘til dawn, laughing at all we’ve left behind. A chapter and a half to show that I was wrong when I ran away, wasting my time.
A page to retell how I knew you unequivocally, but only as a child when we went frog hunting in the pond.
A paragraph for your favorite book, which you read five times in the seventh grade.
A sentence for the tattoo you regret.
A word for when you close your eyes.
The story isn’t being paced quite right. Authors cringe and editors turn me away but I just keep writing because it reminds me of you and I never want you to go away.
So another chapter about when we debate never-ending subjects in the sunshine.
Two more about fist fights with your cousins in the snow.
Another about baking Angel Food Cake just so you could throw flour in my hair.
Then another for the laughter that sang from the ground up as I watched you get stuck in our favorite tree.
One more about scotch by the riverside.
Be my muse and I’ll write it all down.
This is Caleb. His super powers include taking great photos and being surprisingly effervescent. His weakness? Being way too easily distracted by beautiful things. But that helps with the photography aspect of life… So it’s not such a bad weakness to have.
It is uncommon to find people who really see the world, who actually see others. How many times a day is the old Admin building passed, glanced at, overlooked? How many times a day do individuals look at one another and fail to truly see anything worthwhile? The best artists show the world what they see, and Caleb sees a lot. I have an assumption that his camera can never keep up.
I’ve had a few shots of him for several weeks from a brief adventure we took to welcome the new year. They’ve been used to practice sketching buildings and stairwells. Usually I dislike drawing anything that can’t answer back. So… when is comes to architecture I doodle and break every shading law in existence because I prefer to scribble without thought.
But a couple sketches, while lacking in plenty of ways, turned out to be at least interesting. So here’s to many moments of sketching in coffee shops without diligence and sneaking a sharpie out of my backpack in class from time to time. A line at five, a shadow at ten. It’s not much, but it adds up to plenty of scribbles which I’m going to go ahead and call art.