so october 7th i drove the minions through the flatlands of illinois to collect this new member of our homestead:
we left in the morning and did not get home until almost five when poultry has to be fed and sheep watered all while trying to get the new baby to eat (he was pretty pissed off about being taken away from his family–no wonder–and it was a day before we could get him to accept the bottle.) plus i had to relocate the bunnies to a puppy pen so i could use their dog crate for quixote’s “stall” in our sunroom. as well as feeding the minions, collecting eggs, putting poultry away….
so it was after seven before i got a chance to catch my breath.
and i just did not feel like doing inktober. so i phoned it in and used an inking in progress as my seventh day:
which i then finished for the 8th of inktober.
which brings us to yesterday, the ninth. i wasn’t sure what to do. i decided to just do some journal inkings.
my first one came out like this:
and i was all like, “what the fuck, em?” i thought about posting it…but felt really conflicted about it, for some reason.
art for me is a meditation and an exorcism.
what is going on here then?
so i tried again:
and ended up not posting this one either. i was convinced people would hate them and be, like me, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
i want to keep doing inktober–because it is fun for me and keeps me creating….
but i’m not sure i want to share anymore.
it feels like i am putting myself out there…to no avail.
i’m just weird.
a misfit toy.
…a strange lady.