I spent a significant portion of my art life hating ink. The bottle kind, not the pen kind. There’s no real reason why. Liquid and klutziness don’t usually skip hand-in-hand into the sunset, s’all I’m sayin’.
Well, my eyes have been opened. Ink is fast and loose [insert obligatory analogy] and I love it. It feels confident even if you weren’t that confident when you were drawing it.
Ignore the last one’s cloven hoof.
Unrelated: I disdainfully look down my nose at those cream puffs who can’t handle their coffee. The ones that stay up all night because they had a cup at noon. Well: I have actually become this person. I cut back on coffee recently because I was afraid my then current rate of consumption was making my liver radioactive. This evening, I had one single cup of 1/2 caf drip coffee and my brain is humming. Bitter sob.
PS: OH EM GEE I JUST SPLATTERED THE ORANGE I FOUND IN MY PURSE ALL OVER MY NEWLY REPAIRED LAPTOP.
