raincoats for penguins

Unfortunately, I have to be in a particular mood to watercolour. To me, it requires a delicate type of patience. A patience that doesn’t come to me naturally.

So, with the mental discipline worthy of an elevated monk I do my first colour run.

I pretend I don’t see all the details I need to fix.

I imagine what it would feel like to add a freshly sharpened watercolour pencil or a black razor thin ink.

I put post-production to the back of my head.

I feel like I’m cheating if I rely on Photoshop to correct my incompetence. Then I am reminded by every graphic designer I revere that it’s not incompetence pretending to be brilliant, it’s just another editing process necessary for the next stage, print.

But that’s a long way away.

Right now I need to step back and decide what I want to to.

I have stalled at this stage for a time frame I’m too embarrassed to admit. Because this is the moment that with vehement consistency, I screw up.

Because I’m indecisive. I have technical gaps in knowledge. I press too hard. I’m frustrated that the image in my head isn’t translating in front of me.

Yep. I can be a little impatient with myself. But at the same time, I can give myself a decent amount of space to make mistakes, to figure stuff out, to try again.

For example, I forgot to put Little Liga in a sleeping beauty costume.

Does this matter?

Sleeping Beauty was the first live ballet I watched as a child and I can still remember gasping as a double-posted bed (caked in silks and lace) descended from the rafters and landed centre stage.

My mum drove us kids in a beaten up 1970’s VW bus to the other side of town to watch this production.

A magical ballet about a girl who’s humble little story of depression ends in triumph/awareness, human connection if you’re a romanticist.

Yep.

This costume matters.

So…

Back to the drawing board.

And with that being said, let’s meet back here in Part 3 to see how I go!