I was having a particularly bad day a few weeks ago. Instead of wallowing in my funk, I picked up a scrap of cardboard and started to draw my self portrait. I felt like shades of grey and brown but I mixed bright colours with my gouache. The light pencil lines and the rhythm of filling in the shapes felt therapeutic. Before too long the fog was lifting and my shoulders straightened.
It's one of the better likenesses of myself I've created. It's honest; I look tired and a bit worn.
This reminds me of My Many Coloured Days by Dr. Seuss; a book I often read before I put my daughter down. Specifically these two passages:
Some days are yellow.
Some are blue.
On different days I'm different too.
But it all turns out all right, you see. And I go back to being...me.