Womankind – August 2019

107107

up the shore I was irritated. I didn’t

want to stop. I considered skipping

it, but knew I’d kick myself for that.

I thought of a favourite spot along

the drive, Palisade Head. It’s a tow-

ering cliff of rock that rises up from

the lake some 300 feet. Driving to

the top with my young children

years ago sent me into a panic. I

made them sit down, then lie down

near the edge. I was so afraid they

would plummet to their deaths.

A hiker died there once. Lost her

footing? Distracted by the view? I

stopped and built my blessing at the

edge of the narrow road, and said a

prayer for all those who climb, hike,

and stand, or sit, in awe of the view.

Day four: It was dusk before I

found the time for art today. We had

taken a pontoon boat ride with some

friends to get away from the gnats.

It was unbelievably warm for early

June, in the low 80s°F (27°C). Im-

possible to work outside because of

the bugs. As the sun went down I

donned a jacket and head net before

finding an old weathered stump for

my fourth mandala. I’ve been taking

pictures of all my pieces and sharing

them with friends on social media. I

hope it inspires more people to create

these whimsical, short-lived works

of art. Wouldn’t it be fun to come

upon an arrangement on a hike, or

even at the edge of a sidewalk down-

town. Green graffiti. We’ve had this

land for nearly 26 years and like most

places it has seen joys and sorrows.

As I placed leaves, small flowers, and

spruce buds in a pleasing design, I

prayed a blessing to the land, to my

memories, and to what’s next.

Day five: Home. It seemed fit-

ting that my last creation would be

a blessing on my own doorstep. I

collected lilac blossoms, lamb’s-ear

leaves, large leaves the size of small

plates that grow as weeds up against

my house. Fronds of fiddlehead fern

that reminded me of playing in the

woods with my sister when we were

young. We would pick ferns to tie

around our waists and pretend we

were woodland natives from some

ancient people who lived in the

trees. I found small yellow flowers

and rocks. I took time with my de-

sign, arranging it on the moss-cov-

ered step before our unused front

door. It was perfect. Almost.

oped a fondness for 6B pencils, their

depth, and the easy way they blunt

after only a few strokes. This chal-

lenge is not an excuse, but a reason

to begin regular play, to forget the

injunctions of the past and draw a

different present.

Day two: I tried drawing a pear

today, or more accurately, copy a

drawing of a pear. My pears were

misshapen, lumpy things that ap-

peared to have grown while under

duress. I had fun with cross-hatch-

ing, though. Adding layers of lines

running in different directions is

meditative. I become too absorbed

in the process, however, and tend

to overdo it. I also learn that when

the basic shape is out, then so is your

shadow. After three attempts, I give

up. My partner says the third try is

the best but agrees each pear is an

odd shape. “Perhaps it’s your glauco-

ma,” he says. I tell him I’ve always

had trouble drawing the simplest

shape, circle, square, triangle, or

oval. “You’ve always had an astig-

matism,” he replies. He’s right, and

I wonder if my vision distorts ev-

erything I look at, and how I would

know that unless I attempted to re-

produce that thing? It seems such a

cliché, to learn the pear I see is not

the pear another person sees, but

it’s also comforting. Perhaps I can

draw. Writers learn to write what

they know. This challenge may help

me discover how I see an object, as

much as how to reproduce it.

Day three: The sun is shining

so I go into our courtyard garden

to draw leaves. I ignore their shape

and concentrate on the fine trac-

ing of veins delivering water to the

leaf, the border created by one leaf

overlapping another, the etchings of

stalks, twigs, and a glimpse, among

the foliage, of slender branches. I

draw seven different sets of leaves

Womankind Community WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE

Janet Thomas

Day one: When I asked, over

sixty years ago, my mother to draw

something for me, she looked up

from her book and replied, “I’m not

good at drawing darling. I can’t draw

a straight line.” My mother’s daugh-

ter, I love to read. I also wanted to

write a book she might enjoy read-

ing. It’s too late now, she died eight

years ago and while I’ve written a

memoir my attempts at completing a

novel has produced little more than

frustration. Not as much frustration

as drawing, though. I cannot draw,

which is why buying - around eigh-

teen months ago - a visual diary, a set

of drawing pencils, and two books

claiming they could teach me how

to draw, is mystifying. I’ve since flirt-

ed with my pencils, using them to fill

the first few pages of my sketchbook

with different shapes, patterns, tex-

tures, a few oranges, candlesticks,

and even faces. I have also devel-

107

up the shore I was irritated. I didn’t
want to stop. I considered skipping
it, but knew I’d kick myself for that.
I thought of a favourite spot along
the drive, Palisade Head. It’s a tow-
ering cliff of rock that rises up from
the lake some 300 feet. Driving to
the top with my young children
years ago sent me into a panic. I
made them sit down, then lie down
near the edge. I was so afraid they
would plummet to their deaths.
A hiker died there once. Lost her
footing? Distracted by the view? I
stopped and built my blessing at the
edge of the narrow road, and said a
prayer for all those who climb, hike,
and stand, or sit, in awe of the view.
Day four: It was dusk before I
found the time for art today. We had
taken a pontoon boat ride with some
friends to get away from the gnats.
It was unbelievably warm for early
June, in the low 80s°F (27°C). Im-
possible to work outside because of
the bugs. As the sun went down I
donned a jacket and head net before
finding an old weathered stump for
my fourth mandala. I’ve been taking
pictures of all my pieces and sharing
them with friends on social media. I
hope it inspires more people to create
these whimsical, short-lived works
of art. Wouldn’t it be fun to come
upon an arrangement on a hike, or
even at the edge of a sidewalk down-
town. Green graffiti. We’ve had this
land for nearly 26 years and like most
places it has seen joys and sorrows.
As I placed leaves, small flowers, and
spruce buds in a pleasing design, I
prayed a blessing to the land, to my
memories, and to what’s next.
Day five: Home. It seemed fit-
ting that my last creation would be
a blessing on my own doorstep. I
collected lilac blossoms, lamb’s-ear
leaves, large leaves the size of small
plates that grow as weeds up against

myhouse.Frondsoffiddleheadfern

thatremindedmeofplayinginthe

woodswithmysisterwhenwewere

young.We would pick ferns to tie

around our waists and pretend we

were woodland natives from some

ancient people who lived in the

trees. I found small yellow flowers

androcks.I tooktimewithmyde-

sign,arranging it onthemoss-cov-

ered step before our unused front

door.It wasperfect.Almost.

opeda fondnessfor6Bpencils,their

depth,andtheeasywaytheyblunt

afteronlya few strokes.This chal-

lengeis notanexcuse,buta reason

to begin regularplay, to forgetthe

injunctionsofthe past and drawa

differentpresent.

Day two:I trieddrawinga pear

today, or more accurately, copy a

drawing of a pear. My pears were

misshapen, lumpy things that ap-

peared to have grown while under

duress.I had fun withcross-hatch-

ing,though.Addinglayers oflines

running in different directions is

meditative. I become too absorbed

in the process, however, and tend

tooverdoit.I alsolearnthatwhen

thebasicshapeis out,thensois your

shadow.Afterthreeattempts,I give

up.Mypartnersaysthethirdtryis

thebest butagrees eachpearis an

oddshape.“Perhapsit’syourglauco-

ma,”hesays.I tellhim I’vealways

had trouble drawing the simplest

shape, circle, square, triangle, or

oval. “You’ve always had an astig-

matism,”hereplies.He’sright,and

I wonder if my vision distorts ev-

erythingI lookat,andhowI would

knowthatunlessI attemptedtore-

producethatthing?It seemssucha

cliché,tolearnthepearI seeis not

the pear another person sees, but

it’s also comforting. Perhaps I can

draw. Writers learn to write what

theyknow.Thischallengemayhelp

mediscoverhowI seeanobject,as

muchashowtoreproduceit.

Day three: The sun is shining

so I go into our courtyard garden

todrawleaves.I ignoretheirshape

and concentrate on the fine trac-

ingofveinsdeliveringwatertothe

leaf,thebordercreatedbyone leaf

overlappinganother,theetchingsof

stalks,twigs,and a glimpse,among

the foliage, of slender branches. I

draw seven different sets of leaves

Womankind Community WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE

Janet Thomas

Day one: When I asked, over

sixty years ago, my mother to draw

something for me, she looked up

from her book and replied, “I’m not

good at drawing darling. I can’t draw

a straight line.” My mother’s daugh-

ter, I love to read. I also wanted to

write a book she might enjoy read-

ing. It’s too late now, she died eight

years ago and while I’ve written a

memoir my attempts at completing a

novel has produced little more than

frustration. Not as much frustration

as drawing, though. I cannot draw,

which is why buying - around eigh-

teen months ago - a visual diary, a set

of drawing pencils, and two books

claiming they could teach me how

to draw, is mystifying. I’ve since flirt-

ed with my pencils, using them to fill

the first few pages of my sketchbook

with different shapes, patterns, tex-

tures, a few oranges, candlesticks,

and even faces. I have also devel-