Earlier this year I mentioned I was giving myself a whole new reading challenge, one that involved my focusing on reading books I own. No borrowing the latest, greatest from the public library. Well, I’m still borrowing books for Bibi and I even borrowed a few crafting books (beading ones in particular but I’ll blog about those later when I actually start doing anything).
I created a Pinterest board to track my progress and, now that I’m free from studying for the CPC exam, I am eager to get busy tackling the many books I have accumulated. Someone who checked out the board noticed a few books they thought were “surprising” because they didn’t expect me to have certain interests, I suppose.
The ones that were perceived as remarkable were the books on drawing and calligraphy. Like most children, I used to draw. Unlike some children, this was something that was encouraged in me. My father and my maternal aunt were both artists. I even have a watercolor my mother did of me in profile but she later became interested in photography and later still quilting.
|The lion offers a flower to a bunny?|
But I digress.
I took classes at the Art Student’s League and one time I contributed a pencil still life drawing to a Girl Scout celebration, not knowing that it was a competition. I was given a blue ribbon. I still find that baffling. Not as baffling, however, as the time when during a middle school art show and had one of my pieces sold for $50. It was nice to earn some cash, I suppose, but I didn’t know that anything was being auctioned off so I rather resented losing something I had created for my own pleasure.
I stopped drawing after my children were born. I simply didn’t have the time. I certainly didn’t have the resources to buy art supplies. My love of pastels, my playing with charcoal, my curiosity about water color paints—all of these things had to be set aside.
I still had lovely penmanship, thanks to my mother.
|The message has some humor & sadness.|
Seriously, she writes like this all of the time and this is written with a ballpoint pen. Truth is, this is sloppy by her standards. If she were trying to write neatly, it would look better than this. Ponder that a moment and try to imagine being able to write this beautifully all of the time.
I used to have a beautiful hand as well, albeit not nearly as elegant as my mother’s. I had hoped to do calligraphy professionally someday and had quite a few resources, many of which have been lost along the way. Or damaged. I can’t even find anything that has an example of how beautifully I used to write and even now people compliment me on my penmanship all of the time.
Truth is, I don’t get it.
So there you go. A context for some of my collection. You can check it out for yourself and see if you discover any surprises. In the meantime, be prepared for more book reviews because I’m reading and enjoying every minute of it!