N exercise 3.1 – one admired person
She’s up just after dawn and seems to thrive on little sleep. At any given time she’s working on her website, her sketchbook, her lesson planning. Her laptop is tuned to world music while she does her daily sketch, a half-hour tour of bright colour and strong shapes. When the timer’s up she’ll post the result to Insta, move onto the next thing.
Today she’s got her blog’s weekly update to prepare – she collects and collates all the work of the week and brings it into one beautiful package. She uses Illustrator and though she doesn’t know all of the tools she gets around it all right.
She writes about what she’s been reading this week, the TV shows she’s seen. A few words per piece of media captures her impressions. Her reviews are like haiku, precisely structured. She edits images and arrays them using shapes and masks. When she’s covered the week, she clicks “post.”
A few likes come in on Insta, a comment or two, to the effect of “great post” or “beautiful!” and which may or may not include emojis. The tepid response seems hardly worth the effort of the art, let alone curating it into a weekly digest. All the same, she’s on her bed, the cat curled up beside, today’s music – Scottish folk – wheeling up from her laptop, and after a brief stint on Tumblr, taking in – in flickering fragments – the work of others, she grabs her hardback sketchbook and starts into the next thing. She does 3.5 double-page spreads a day, in coloured marker. These, too, she’ll photo, share on Insta and her site.
The “number of posts” counter has increased by one – her total likes up by fifteen or maybe even twenty. She refreshes the stats, smiles, and puts her pen to paper.