I’m reading Isabel Wilkerson’s book Caste, along with the news with daily stories of police violence. It is harsh but absorbing, and well worth reading.
I’m thinking about the costs of dis-individuation and dehumanization passed down through generations of both oppressed and oppressors.
I am feeling a little sensitive today about whether or not I am a real painter who makes real art. Some of my inner critics managed to manifest in the outer world, where it’s a little harder to tell them to go into another room and shut up so I can contentedly play with my art materials.
I actually didn’t make a new drawing today, just reworked this one from last December. Again. I think it’s done enough now to let it go. I felt grumpy about pausing to start a fresh page, so I just didn’t. My February experiment of letting go of the dailies may have affected me more deeply than I thought!
Evidently my cats have become my new princesses: my go-to subject when I don’t feel like drawing and have no ideas.
Wrack and Ruin have been playing a game lately where they aggressively groom each others’ heads until one of them decides they’ve had enough and pounce.