On New Year’s Eve, I went out for a walk hoping to make a sketch that would lift up my dwindling creative spirits. The scene of snow-covered houses was beautiful, and I was all bundled up and wearing my fingerless gloves, ready to put pen to paper. But I didn’t draw a thing. The cold weather was not the problem. The problem was setting too high expectations for myself. I wanted to close my troubled sketching year with a more-than-perfect drawing.
Somewhat defeated, I headed back home, only to find an interesting moment worth recording: an Amazon Prime delivery van was stuck in the snow at the bottom of our street. While I felt sorry for the driver, I couldn’t help but find the struggle between Mighty Amazon and Mother Nature amusing. A neighbor was already helping the driver, so I didn’t feel too guilty about disappearing into my house.
Looking out from an upstairs window, I roughed out a few pencil lines to get a sense of the composition and, within half-an-hour or so, my ink-and-wash sketch was done. I was happy.
