My mum’s house sits nestled in the middle of several acres of wild forest and is full of stuff to draw, including her cat, Fred, and the family collection of stone Buddhas, many of which my grandfather acquired in Pakistan years ago. As we all sat around and she unwrapped a basketful of birthday gifts, I drew anything within eyeball reach with an old/new pen.
Old, because I used to love its fine, sharp line and hard-as-a-hypodermic nib until I decided it was bad for me and gave it up years ago. New, because I was craving it again and bought a fresh one last week (Grumbacher “Artists Pen” very hard to come by).
Why ‘bad‘ for me?
Well, the pen is so fine and hard it makes me draw in a very particular way that appeals to the most anal retentive part of me and I make these would-be photorealistic drawings that are so tight and rigid and tiny and, while that’s all well and fine in small doses, I ended up tossing the pen when I started wanting to do teeny tiny postage stamp drawings full of stippling and cross-hatching and little else.
But it was my mum’s birthday, so I gave myself a break.
Am I nuts?
P.S. I do quite like this page. Is it too small to read?
Danny Gregory 