In the Tuesday newsletter this morning I wrote about the magic of the brush pen. I also shot a video of me working with it in my diary:
I was bored of drawing blind contour self-portraits in my diary, and then, as often happens in my projects, I switched out the tool I was using, and suddenly the practice became new again.
The only trouble with the brush pen is that it doesn’t give you much feedback. The brush glides over the page, and if you’re not looking, you sometimes can’t tell if you’re actually making marks:
In order to orient myself when drawing blind with the brush, I have to be absolutely silent so I can hear the slight swish to know I’m actually making a mark. No headphones, no music. I even have to keep the edge of my hand from resting on the page because it makes a scraping sound as I move around. This turns drawing into even more of a multi-sensory experience than it already is…
So with the brush, so with life. The world is shouting, but there is a voice inside, waiting to be heard. Shut up and listen. Decline to comment. Hold thy tongue, loosen thy pen. Noise is fascinating, if we give it our attention. Silence is a space for something new to happen.
Some of them are drawn from life, some from my camera roll.
This one started by copying a drawing of Charlie Brown and letting my hand go.
I really love drawing chickens. (The cigarette is a nod to Lynda.)
This one started with a swiped drawing from my 4-year-old.
More “Good morning, diary” on Twitter…
To warm up for the past couple mornings I’ve pulled out my trusty ol’ Pentel Pocket Brush Pen and filled a page in my diary before writing. (Hard not to be influenced when reading Lynda Barry!) The pen is probably half a decade old, and still works like new. Something magical about drawing with this thing…