Inktober 1
Always remember your first love
It’s been a while since I’ve done ink work. There is something soothing and alluring about the stark darks of black ink.
Ink was also the medium I fell in love with first as far as visual art goes. I had played with graphite and many others but on using ink for the first time it felt right. The unforgiving nature of black India ink meant that I could no longer be stuck in the frustrating cycle of drawing and then erasing. When I put a line down, it was commitment, which was in it’s own way freeing. I had to move forward. I could no longer get stuck at the same early stages.
And it meant I had to work with my mistakes. Which was wonderfull.
Ink for every all its unforgiving nature, it taught me to accept. To accept that a line will never be perfect. But that if enough lines are close enough, it doens’t matter. And that sometimes those lines that are really wrong, end up leading the work somewhere marvelous.
And I think life’s a bit like that. Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes huge horrible mistakes, sometimes small things. But those mistakes need to accepted. They can’t be erased, but they can be worked into something bigger, something that is beautiful for those mistakes. Something that wouldn’t exsist were it not for those mistakes.
