sketching

She walks in from the kitchen, mug of tea in one hand, a pencil fidgeting slightly in the other. She is being comfortable today in her lulu lemon pants and a hoodie. She gracefully seats herself down upon her chair and curls her legs underneath her, until only a flash of colour now and again reveals that her feet are cocooned within fuzzy pink socks.

She glances critically at the sketch before her, tapping her pencil gently against her cheek. She takes a sip of tea, and her shoulders relax a little. She places the mug on the space beside her paper, though her hand still encircles it, as she contemplates what to do next.

Decided, she moves her pencil towards the page. Upon contact, lines and shades commence to flow out from under her hand. Minutes pass, or maybe hours, but she continues, lost in herself, in the page in front of her, in the relationship that she is creating with her subject.

Eventually, her hand ceases its movement, and she stares critically down at the page once more. With ragged hair, a dress ripped at the bottom, and wings growing out of her back, a faceless fairy stares back at her, a wild creature. Almost instantaneously the two - the artist and the subject - agree that a dash of colour is necessary. Purple is selected. They step back to critique the new addition to the appearance, the fairy turning this way and that to allow them to take in all angles. After a moment, their eyes catch and they smile. They are satisfied.