Boxing day – you should box it up, really.
As nature begets, all things come and go in rounds.
The only difference between one round from the other is its shape. Circles, ovals, and badly drawn ones are commonplace – you’ve probably known how those felt, but of course, being who I am, and what I do – people like us never get anything close to round; or even any other identifiable shape, for that matter.
It always seems like static when you turn to look at it – nicely blended in with every other element around. Yet, when seperated, stands by itself. That shape(ful) line seems to take absolute turns at some, if not all times.
Such a line serves infinite causes, and one might argue, serves more than one master – or artist, in the sense of the person who actually penned it. Exquisite nibs, of course, adds to the weight, stroke, and density of the line. Ink too, plays a part. Personally, I’ve a soft spot for crimson, albeit dabbled a little with a darker shade, say, the boldest colour of them all.
You then pick up a pen, a blunt one – in place of the golden nib. And doodle.
Us, humans, have a soft spot for doodling – and out of seeming messes, we tend to end up sketching: Thoughts out of our imagination, or desire, or well, something buried within. They say it’s the left side of the brain at work – the side which Van Gogh, and probably Albert (subtly) was active at.
You sketch.
Unknowingly, the lines form complicated whole shapes, which actually begin to look like it does indeed have some form or another, and we hesitate.
Thus stems it all, thus stems it all..
As they say when a movie’s wrapped up: “Box it up, people, box it up!”
