My feet have really been dragging on this post. I think I was scared off by the word "conference," which to me represents long hours on aching feet. Work stuff.
So, instead, let's discuss the drawing class I took back in January, as it was a workshop of sorts. The class took place over the course of four Monday evenings in an ill-heated art studio in Charleston. They were a gift to myself. A gentle nudge to keep myself inspired.
There were four of us in the class. Two wildly talented kids and a mother with children my age. I struggled at first to realize that, while the others had more refined skills than me (and probably just more skills in the art department, period), there was nothing wrong with my drawings. They were just mine.
It was intensely relaxing and perspective-altering to sit down for 90 whole minutes and focus on trying to capture what I saw on paper. After each class I felt like I'd just finished a yoga practice. Calmer. More focused. Like I was interpreting the world a little bit differently. Just thinking about it makes me want to go home and sketch...