Leave me alone with even the barest scrap of paper and anything I can draw with, and eventually I will. I can’t help it. I don’t draw because I think it will gain me anything. I don’t draw because I want attention. I don’t draw because someone asked me to. I draw because that’s what I need, and I couldn’t not do it if I tried, eventually I must have that fix. That’s not to say I don’t like the idea of gaining from it, or getting attention, I most certainly do. I’m happy to draw for someone that asked me to, but it’s still a case of doing it because I want to. If I never received another compliment on my work and I knew I would never be able to make any gains whatsoever through it, still I would draw. There are times when I can’t, that switch is somehow turned off in my brain, when I’m overcome by apathy, and it’s horrible. When I can’t draw through mood or circumstance, it’s like I’m missing a piece of myself. When I put pencil to paper, it’s not just graphite I lay on it, it’s part of my soul.
Here are two really rough drawings I did around 6-10 years ago, I suppose I can tie them in. They were both done on envelopes. The paper the lions are on was creased before I drew on them, that’s just absolutely all I had available. I know they’re not up to my usual standards, and they’re on crappy paper, but I’m strangely partial to them.