As much as I enjoy the toothe of this mixed-media paper, I may have to finally crack open a watercolor sketchbook. While a spot of gouache is handled well, every attempt at a wash has buckled the pages. It’s mostly tolerable but adds one more thing I have to be aware of and really shouldn’t. I should be thinking about the sketch itself. What I’m seeing and trying to get on paper.
Much of why I started drawing again has been about reconciliation. It’s a recursive reconciliation. It builds and deconstructs along the same loop. Since moving back to post-industrial North Jersey, I have been reconciling my ties here. Growing up here. What is the effect of that legacy on us children of factory workers? That last generation of shift workers benefiting from a final, full prosperous breath of big industry employment.
It’s not nostalgia I feel. Something in me needs to recognize growing up around the tools, machines, shops, plants and talk of shifts. I thought a sketch involving fire was a good way to begin. A torch lit and ready to begin.