February 21, 2004

I woke up at 5:15 this morning for no good reason and yet felt quite rested. Poking around for something quiet to start my day off on the right footing, I sat down with the last few postings on Wild Yorkshire.
Richard's view from the Cafe Casbah with all those layered earth tones made me look around for my watercolors (they were by the couch, under Jack's new Calvin and Hobbes book). His drawing of a Swede, a sort of rutabaga thing, so loose and yet so accurate, and the way he gives depth with those extra dark lines around the edges of the shape, sent me padding back in the bedroom, where I had to turn on a light and wake Patti up as I searched for my new Rotring Rapidoliner in the drawer in my bedside table where I'd emptied my pockets. But it was his drawing of lower Petergate, so intricate and evocative, that really got me going. I love his observation: "drawing a subject like this is a bit like doing a jigsaw." I know that feeling so well, filling in each section of the page, tonguiing and grooving until the picture is complete. That's how I wanted to open my day.
It was still dark. The view out the window was just starting to pick up the first fingers of dawn reaching down deserted East 3rd Street. I filled the kettle, put it on the hob. As I did, I saw my subject. None of the picturesque charm of York perhaps, but here was a lot to explore in the reflections on chrome, the nubbly brittleness of the sponges, the translucent soap bottle.