Good Morning “My wonderful Brave, and Courageous, AlanaKalanian Warriors…”
Above is just a quick sketch I drew while waiting for someone, doing so to pass the time, it was years back and oddly I recently came across it.
Not my best work, obviously, I suppose could have “Photoshop” it, whatever that means..
I was going for the original look.
It may have not been something I would have framed and hung in a place where others could see it but it had something special to offer me, it inspired me.
Yes, I am hanging it now where everyone in the entire world could see it, but I have a story I’d like to share with all of my warriors, that I couldn’t if the picture was seen.
Not all writers are “artists” but I believe they are two skills that work very well together.
Like math and science, yuck!
I do all my own artwork but it is not my artwork I display, it is my writing. So basically complement my writing with a drawing, and never the other way around.
Although, I have good fiends who teach Math, and Science, I just don’t try to pretend I can ever teach those subjects, at least not without a prepared, step by step lesson plan.
About the sketch I simply named “Mother”,
when I look at the woman in the sketch above I see a beautiful woman holding her sweet child close to her.
She IMO looks sad, though, in her eyes I see a lifeless glare without explanation.
I often over-think what I see, but I do not think so, not this time.
As, I purposely did not mean for her to be unhappy, and now I am sad to see her unhappy.
I wonder was it her life that brought her such unhappiness? I wonder does she have more children, and are they hungry? Does she look on aimlessly because she has no food to give them? This would surely make her sad.
I imagined she asked them to play outside so she could try to get her baby to sleep as she looks as if she is rocking.
I imagine she lives in a poor village, where the men were sent to the bigger cities for work, and most had to travel far to find decent employment.
So, not only did she worry for her hungry children, but of her own loneliness.
I think now that blank, lifeless look in her eyes, where blatantly she looks the other way, is perhaps her only moments where she thinks of nothing, and so is at the most peace she can be ever.
As she gently holds her baby, her mind is not to cluttered up with some of the things that may normally sadden her, like poverty, human suffering, hunger and loneliness.
There may have also been some civil unrest in her village, but I don’t know I can only imagine.
She is so very beautiful, I wonder if she knows how really pretty she is?
I have learned she is at peace when she thinks of nothing, as she does now.
I imagined her sitting contentedly at the edge of her bed, rocking her baby, when a loud boom sound in the distance from outside startles her greatly, causing her to jump to her feet, clutching her infant more tightly she lunged to the window to check on her children, but just for a moment out of the corner of her eye glanced at herself in the mirror above her bureau but she never deterred.
As, I had no sketch (yet) to imagine anymore. If I could though, it would reflect children happily playing, and that loud boom came from some old truck backfiring.
Isn’t writing a special gift?