Where I'm At

For years now, I've been getting older.

We're all going through it, right? Though before I turned 40, I didn't give it much thought. Now I get out my mirror for a self-portrait and have to decide how many wrinkles to include. How dark to make the darkness under my eyes.

Include it all, I say! Because aging is what I plan to keep doing, as long as possible.

Acceptance is one thing. But how can I embrace the fact of getting older? Well, one way is to look at this drawing I just did, look beyond the wrinkles and see an accomplished artist with a strong line and a strong sense of rendering. There's real feeling here, the result of years of honing my skill, through many hundreds of drawings. And I can only get better, as I continue to work on my art (and my writing.)

So is it aging or is in improving?
I guess it's all in how you decide to look at it.

Hank's Tattoo

I try for a line a day- or two or three - some bit of sketching, doesn't matter what.

Actually, I don't even have to try, because I doodle. But I also do self-portraits, or draw Madeline while she's drawing or reading, draw in the cafe. And don't forget the cats.

Sometimes I go out and listen to Hank playing music- this time with fellow guitarist John Corbin at a fabulous wine bar in downtown Asheville- and I draw the musicians. They're hands are in constant motion and they make weird faces. My hand moves quickly, too, trying to capture their energy.

This one's got a little something never before seen in any Hank rendition- his tattoo. He insisted I include it, even though it's actually on the other arm. Poetic license, he said.

I'll call it a few extra lines. And, bam!, there's your tatoo.

Self-Portraits, Then and Now

The first one is from 1996. The second one is from today. So what's changed since 1996?

I cut my hair (and dye it now.) I got married. My mother died (in 2000.) The twin towers. I had a baby (in 2003.)

I stopped drawing for awhile there, though I was doing some wild abstract paintings. A few months after Madeline was born, I wrote a picture book. A few years ago, I bought myself a new set of rapidographs. And a bunch of woodless pencils (my favorite kind of pencil!) and a few china markers (hard to unravel.) So I'm drawing again.

But what else is different? I feel like I hardly know that bold, confident young woman from 1996. Before all that crap happened. Before I spent so much time worrying about my parenting skills, or lack of. She looks so carefree.

I am not carefree. But I do have my set of rapidographs and a brand new bottle of ink.

And I've written a bunch more books. And I am more likely now to go to conferences and talk to people I don't know. I am more able now to send my stories and drawings out into the world and greet rejection letters with a 'that's okay; I'll just keep trying." I am more able to say "I'm an artist." Because I really am. So maybe this is the new, bolder Constance, after all. The one who is writing a blog in 2010. Which is something I never would have done (technology notwithstanding) in 1996!