Off the Rails

Blind Justice

Though my intentions are clear in my sketches, the actual items and characters have yet to come exactly as I picture them (as Blind Justice knows all too well.) I wonder what level of artistry I'll need to envision something and transmit that exact conception to paper. Perhaps it is a matter of meditation. I admit I rush from idea to execution- So as not to procrastinate, and also because I don't want to be addicted to brain crack. As of now, I don't see how I could manage a daily blog any other way.

On the subjects of scheduling and of the sketch- I got called up for jury duty. I'm relieved, actually- I thought perhaps I missed a summons sometime, having never been called. My sister and mom, meanwhile, have been called up twice each in the past eight years. My concerns were compounded by the fact that when I went to renew my driver's license the clerk had so much trouble finding my information he asked me for my alias.

Looks like I'm a U.S. citizen after all, and one who will have to bike 10 miles to do her duty (as there is a note that says specifically that distance is not a hardship.) I could delay for a year, but now is probably as flexible as I will ever be so I figure I'll just go for it. My big consolation in all of this is that the Massachusetts Jury System Website looks like someone's 5th grade html project.

Malingering

Malingering is not exactly the subject of this monograph (references for nerds!) but it makes a good title. I thought the idea of a personified flowers cliched enough that I'd find a similar image by searching but apparently I'm more creative than I thought.

I have a warped perspective on my own wellness but I find the only thing stranger is other people's perception of me. The root of the problem is, no doubt, my usually feeling much more physically able than a 5 foot frame advertises. Admittedly, I'm a mess on paper- With lung conditions, hearing loss, and daily injections for three years (lest I have remained 4'8" for the rest of my life), I spent a great deal of my childhood in doctors' offices. So much so that I actually felt like there was a quota and I would not surpass it. When I was 15 I got a rash around my eyes about the same time that my right knee was incredibly sore. I was sent to a specialist who was convinced I had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. When she called for a follow up visit I refused to go. I was certain that it was a question of mind over matter and I was dead set against having another condition.

I never considered myself weak, maybe because compared to my sister I rarely got cold & flu as a kid. I knew some of my family thought my hearing loss made me deeply disabled (though I've never agreed with that assessment.) Still, when someone's response to my telling them I was training for the Boston Marathon was "You can't! You're too sick!" that was definitely news to me.

Now that I live with peers I am often told that I push myself too hard and, though I am usually recognized as strong and capable, people still worry about me breaking myself. I think anything I say about feeling poorly is whining, but I'm told don't malinger as often as I think I do, thank goodness.

The one thing that plagued me as a kid (and still does) is nausea. I get nauseous headaches entirely too often and, for whatever reason, they always feel like the end of the world. The big problem is their mercurial nature- they show up unannounced, fade away for just long enough that I try to resume my day and theeeeeen.... ebb back and make keeping my head above my shoulders almost impossible. It's the interruption of my plans more than the unpleasant symptoms that upsets me, and like four year old child I want to bury my face in a teddy bear until it goes away.

Mornings this week have routinely started with these headaches, making it hard for me to get out of the house. As a kind of reverse-hypochondriac I try to find comprehensive explanations for illnesses so I can strongly brush them aside. The running hypothesis is dehydration (eminently fixable!) and maybe the makings of barometric pressure-induced migraines (it always works to blame the weather!)

This sketch isn't my best work: Allow me to plead a "7" out of "10" in Ze Frank's brilliant 'Illness Communication Exaggeration Curve.' In case I ever aim to change my perception of self to that of a wilting violet, I'm going to need all the research and practice in malingering that I can get.

Oh! Oh my head...

The Pen is Mightier?

This simple sketch is the result of my contemplating what this blog is really all about. Pencil sketches are this blog's raison d'etre , but I wouldn't be using French phrases if I wasn't obsessed with expressing myself in words. 'Blog' is now a literary genre and my sketches are not enough to sustain themselves without my writing about them.

I can't discuss technique the way a trained artist could, and the sketch is not an illustration of the text (since the sequence of events is usually vague idea....sketch...logorrhea.) So how to define the relationship between the drawing and writing? In the absence of actual readership, the prattling I do in type is a kind of conversation with the sketch. Or, if the imaginary reader finds the writing inane, perhaps the sketch is the two-dimensional equivalent of "Look at the birdie!"

I'm devoting an entry to these disorganized thoughts because of the kind of medicinal or developmental quality that some people in my life attribute to my writing. They have this idea that a blog is a good excuse to write, that it is linguistic exercise, or that it is a kind of stretching that will make me limber enough for a writing-based career. If mediocre drawings are what bring me to the keyboard, then fine.

Maybe there is a kind of inevitability to my "being a writer," but as much as I like to succeed I really dislike hearing "I told you so." There is no doubt that writing with frequency makes one a better writer (albeit a more self-conscious one) but better writing is the only thing it guarantees. I want everyone to think more complexly about what it is to be a writer than being a character played by Sarah Jessica Parker and working for some branch of Conde Nast publications. Encouraging me to be a better writer is one thing, imagining my New York apartment is another. I value writing, and I'd love to infuse my writing with enough energy that it can propel me somewhere, but I hope you'll leave it to me to figure out where that somewhere is.

Which brings me back to the sketches. Writing is my way of talking about the way things are. I don't write fiction; the essay is my favorite form. All other tenses exist in my drawings- the ways things were, might, ought, shouldn't , can't, and will be. I don't expect to see them in a gallery, but that doesn't mean they aren't valuable to me. So if we talk about the blog let's talk about the sketches too- what I did, might, ought, shouldn't, can't, and will draw. And if they aren't worth talking about well, then... why not?

The Body in Conversation

The art of designing letters so that their shape (and not just the words they spell out) conveys information is "typography." The practice of representing shapes with words or phrases is a layer of meaning beyond that and, though it's something I've seen before, I cannot find a name for it.

As I've mentioned I really like sketches I can do with Sharpie marker because it ensures a kind of clarity of form and of idea. I'm really happy with with this sketch because it ended up being more layered than I originally intended. The sentence used to create the person (who is meant to be sitting in a lotus-type position) is "Who do you think you are?" but because of the fortuitous position of the letter "I" in THINK and the propensity of the backwards query to look like a "C" there are many other sentences that could be read including "Do you think I care?" and "Who do I think you are?" Suddenly we have not only a question but a conversation (although not an altogether pleasant conversation.)

Ultimately it's a sketch well worth squinting at, which pleases me. It's also a good reminder that having a creative idea is no substitute for executing one; the act of creating has bi-products that mere contemplation does not.

A Fresh Start