One of my very most extreme favorite things about coming to NYC when I was a teen was peeking at what people were reading/writing/drawing on the train. In Hawaii there is, how shall I put it, less of an industrious spirit. Hawaiian hands sit idle on public transportation. In Hawaii's defense, there is a lot of really gorgeous stuff to look at out the window. You're in not a tunnel. 
I used to thrill to sit next to artists who were sketching away, because up until this point, the only people I knew like that were me and my dad. I'd peek and I'd crane to see how they used their books and what they were scrawling. The other night (on my way to see PJ Harvey) a girl leaned over and whispered "Hi". I wasn't sure I'd heard right over my blasting music, so I took my headphones off and looked at her. She was wearing jeans smeared with acrylic, too much make up and an asymmetrical top. Oh, I was familiar with this girl. Haha.
"Um... can I see your sketchbook?"
"Um... can I see your sketchbook?"
She's an FIT illustration major. She's just getting started and she hopes she can make it. She devoured my book and pointed and questioned and reminded me, of what it is like when you're hoping. I'm hoping now, but you know, when you're hoping.
In honor of a certain girl, circa 2002 - in too much make-up, torn and painted up jeans and a leather jacket with a Hello Kitty tattoo slapped on it, I thought I'd show you a few pages I did yesterday at the park. You know, for old times sake.
In honor of a certain girl, circa 2002 - in too much make-up, torn and painted up jeans and a leather jacket with a Hello Kitty tattoo slapped on it, I thought I'd show you a few pages I did yesterday at the park. You know, for old times sake.
So great. I wish someone would lean over and ask to see MY work. But no, they just slump on my shoulder, and usually don't ask.
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