I have just come to the marvelous conclusion that the reason I’m having trouble getting back into drawing is because I am pressuring myself to think I have to draw stuff like landscapes and flowers and people, when I have absolutely no desire to draw any of them. What do I want to draw? Waffles and dogs and shirts that zip up the front with a jaunty round zipper pull. Maybe a fanciful hat that could never exist in the so-called real world.
I am not an art student. I have no exams to take, no grades to achieve. Like with writing, I can draw what I know. And if what I know is waffles, then that’s what I’m serving.
There’s a reason I’m the only person in New York City who doesn’t have a therapist: Because I’m so damned good at it myself. And my cat is an excellent sounding board.
Perhaps I can draw her too.