My Watercolor Brush & Me

My watercolor brush. My lovely little watercolor brush. I miss you when I don’t see you and your presence is comforting. I know I can do this. The way we’ve always done this, the way we always will. I remember when I first started drawing at the zoo as a professional artist. In Albuquerque, I wanted that nostalgia, didn’t I? Of being at the Bronx Zoo or Central Park Zoo as a student at SVA. I was just discovering what wildlife drawing really was then. What it was really to me. I was creating a passion for myself without knowing it. Who would know? In Albuquerque, the atmosphere was so much different than my previous zoo in NY. The zoos of my former home. There was an independence about Albuquerque’s Biopark and I felt a FREENESS to explore, let myself be bad, let myself be good. Let myself learn and encapsulate myself into the experience. I felt the free-ness then and I feel it now every time I go to the zoo… it’s as if I’m back. Where I intended to be all along. A sense of peace and calmness. Even if surrounded by chaos. I wonder how much the zoo impacted Jaydi’s Story…

Certainly it had to be a lot. Certainly it had to be intense. I think God was preparing me for it. Just like my dream, just like all of the insights I’ve had since. It is so incredible, isn’t it? How everything comes together, it all makes sense, though seemingly, none of it makes sense at all. I hope that I can make sense of it all. And see how all of the dots are connected and what they mean. At least the ones that are connected to me.

When I was a girl - a young girl. I loved being at the zoo. I loved nature and I loved drawing from that. I didn’t critique my work… I was just proud of it… proud of myself. There was no competing. I always felt confident in what I was doing and knowing that now has helped me immensely. Having that confidence, whether or not it was earned, gave me all the belief I needed to keep going & not give up on myself… 

I enjoy the confidence and outspokenness I am gaining now. But it does scare me. I sometimes fear that it will drive people away. My level of passion, that is. One thing I know is when I feel ready and prepared to speak out, that’s the most liberating thing I can do for myself. I finally am discovering the voice I’ve ALWAYS wanted.

So I thank God for the ability to speak out in truth and speak out for my truth. So I won’t allow my voice to be silenced anymore. My brush is a tool for my voice. My God is the source of my voice. My hunger is the fuel of my voice. Hungry to learn, ready to grow, searching for knowledge of the voices that came before me. Me holding my brush is only me taking my turn.

My hands have been through quite a bit I’d say. They are getting up in age and I’m happy they are still serving me! I’ve been drawing since before I can remember - maybe I started drawing with my bare hands… I remember vaguely a few incidences with finger painting, but mostly I remember the pencil - it’s always been my ride or die. My favorite tool when you get down to it, isn’t it? Or at least equal to my watercolors. It’s fun to mess around with a pencil and the various different types of colors they come in. I quite like the big ones, they almost make you feel like you’re drawing with a crayon and I love the texture it creates. Drawing has always been a fun thing - its never been a chore until I make it a chore. I think drawing is only a chore if I’m drawing something I don’t want to draw or doesn’t resonate with me in the moment. Or even something I’m afraid of drawing…

I can’t even imagine all of the strokes I’ve made with this poor little hand, far past the millions, the billions even… and I wouldn’t be too surprised if we’ve reached a trillion. It’s no wonder this weary little worker needs maintenance nowadays. I have to care for it, I have to rest it. It demands to be put it up on a pedestal so its not fighting too much with gravity. My little hand and me, we have a lot to tell. My hand has an entourage. The tendons and joints that hold it in place. The forearm muscle it borrows energy from. The balance and steadiness it borrows from my triceps and my shoulders, even, acting as the rigs and the grips of a whole production set, all working together for the star, the big guy, my little hand.

Times I’ve been afraid of drawing - certainly comes to mind when I think of digital painting. It was such a struggle for me, one that I’m still trying to figure out to this day. Mostly because it’s new for me - I’m still attempting to find my footing, I’m still trying to find the way I really want to approach it. The resistance I felt kept me from practicing for quite a while but I’m sure I’m overcoming that more and more every time I sit down to practice. I remember wanting to draw or paint a thing digitally and procrastinating like hell. I hate that feeling of procrastination - it always makes me feel so powerless, even when I’m not. What I’d like to do is to face things head on and find others who do the same. I hope I can inspire my new friends. I really like them and hope we can become close. Maybe we will.

I’d also like to be more confident. The Domestic classes have helped me a LOT. That’s why I’m finishing this class at last, so I can get on to my Domestika drawing class - the FUN ones. Talk about procrastination - I really did with this course, for longer than I’d like to remember. It could be just that I’m still insecure in writing, like how I experienced with digital painting - so I therefore made it a chore. But it’s not a chore though, is it? Is any of it? It’s just something I need to get comfortable with the discomfort of doing.