They're only echoes...

It feels like years since I started this (it's actually just a couple of weeks) and back then I had a reason for it, something definite had inspired the idea, it meant something. But it coincided with a bout of repetitive strain (I think, but it's in both hands so I'm not so sure) and then trapping my thumb in a collapsing washing maiden, which stopped all fine detail for a bit and made me forget the point.
So let me view it retrospectively and try and impart some meaning to the art...This is my hand, the one I draw with, so I suppose it's a kind of self portrait. I did post an earlier version on Instagram (@hollyholtart) with a description along those lines but I've refined it slightly since then and added some pencil (of all things), which I actually quite enjoyed as the delicacy of the drawing required something less...dense. This is one of those drawings that would have gone on forever so I just had to decide to stop. I'm even going to be so bold as to say I quite like this drawing. It's a description of the part of me that's close to nature, the part that likes to pick things up and explore them, the part that has to translate thoughts into pictures. The part that hides in a shell. Right, I've said too much, I'm outta here!

Hidden treasure...

Sometimes I just have to prove to myself that I still can. It felt good to do something observational, to think about negative space and form and light and shadow and really look at a thing rather than dreaming it up. To actually draw a thing that's there in front of me. So the victim of choice was these tiny bones and the weapon, biro. I've had the bones for ages, I found them and keep them in this little box like some kind of psycho killer. I'm not. I just love their bleached beauty and their reminder that everything is finite. We'll all be bones in a box one day I suppose. I wonder what people reading this think I'm like in real life...