Gratitude 2015 giveaway!; or, a gift in 365 parts
Happy New Year, everybody! To celebrate, I'm giving away a copy of my friend Susa Talan's 2015 gratitude calendar! Same deal as usual:
You get ONE entry for a Facebook comment
TWO entries for a share, tweet or retweet
and THREE entries for leaving a comment on this post.
I'll keep this giveaway open 'til midnight tomorrow (January 2nd) and choose a random entry.
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I'm always excited for the start of a new year, but today I'm bursting at the seams in the very best way. You know it's going to be a terrific year when the new novel is actually hovering somewhere in the middle of a long list of projects, adventures, and other blessings. This month—thanks to a part-time gig at my all-time favorite studio, yay!—I will slip back into my daily yoga routine in preparation for teacher training in November. Yoga and a couple of secret writing projects are at the top of that list.
I'm not much for "resolutions," per se; I prefer to see them as directions in which I'd like to grow. For the sake of accountability I'll share my "2015 expansion" with you here (and I want to hear what you're intending for this year as well!):
1. Yoga! I didn't manage a freestanding handstand last year, but it is TOTALLY happening in 2015.
2. Tuck into a series of delicious nonfiction projects. (This is just one of them.) I'm renewing my membership to the Writers' Room, so my productivity is about to skyrocket.
3. Make more art. I'm planning to take a printmaking class at MassArt over the summer.
4. After years of wistfully scrolling through IntSweMoDo projects on Ravelry (the challenge is to knit one sweater per month!), I'm finally committing to it, with one tweak: knit a sweater OR sew a dress (or other involved project, like shorts or what have you), EVERY MONTH. I have enough yarn and fabric to last through the summer, at least!
5. And this is perhaps the most important: this year I finally want to feel like I have my act together. I need to work way more efficiently than I do now. I'm talking zero inbox (inspired by my friend Kirsty), workable craft supply and book storage, and no more manila envelopes stuffed with decade-old scraps of scribbled ideas!
I DID IT, YOU GUYS! Inbox zero is not a myth! pic.twitter.com/c8Xin0KZ2u— Kirsty Logan (@kirstylogan) May 9, 2014
I'll be blogging more about these 2015 intentions over the next month, by the way.
Doing the zombie walk into the light http://t.co/mnRlsmeciT — squam (@squamlove) December 31, 2014
What are your hopes and ambitions for 2015, friends? By the by, I highly recommend settling in with your hot beverage of choice and filling out Susannah Conway's Unravelling 2015 workbook. Elizabeth and I looked over our workbooks from last year and were stunned at how much of what we envisioned for the year came to pass. (Just be REALLY clear about what you want, because if you leave any blanks, you can't expect to manifest much in that category...)
Camille gets to see the crazy amazing light in this place. http://t.co/YmxyDkKMmF — squam (@squamlove) January 1, 2015
* * *EDIT: Congrats to Liv for winning the calendar giveaway!
The Merriest EVER
Found this at the Somerville Flea (indoors at the Armory). Let's just pretend my name is Eva Christiansen and I bought this card at Woolworth's, signed it, and mailed it to you. Happy Holidays, everybody!
Gods, Graves, and Budding Artists
There were many delightful moments throughout my #100happydays drawing challenge (which I still haven't finished blogging/tweeting about), but my favorite happened towards the end of the hundred days. Home in NJ for the weekend, I was sketching whatever caught my eye out of Gods, Graves, and Scholars.First I drew a mummy.
Then I drew the headdress of the queen of Sumeria, Shub-Ad [sic], who lived roughly 4,600 years ago. 
Olivia slept over that Saturday night, and the book's photographs and my copycat drawings fascinated her. "Can I draw her too?" It was bedtime, but I promised she could draw Shub-Ad when she woke up.I came downstairs the next morning, and she had already done it. 
Needless to say, I picked up art supplies for her (belated) birthday present (she turned 8 at the end of November), and I'm excited for the next time we draw together. I feel like a big part of my job as her auntie is to share my enthusiasms with her—not to coax her into sharing them, but to help her develop her own areas of interest. 
More drawing in January!
Vegan Paradise
Spencer points out a line on page 250: In the morning she poured two bowls of Count Chocula, and we ate on the front steps.Me: "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever eaten Count Chocula."Elliot (?): "I think there's a lot in that book you've never eaten."
Seeing as the classic Middle Eastern dishes of falafel, hummus, and baba ganoush are some of my very favorites, you can just imagine how happy I was eating these foods every day if I wanted to. I think the rest of the gang were a little bit hummus-and-falafel'd out by the last few days, and I may have echoed as much, but I didn't really mean it. Have I mentioned my undying love for falafel? 
I didn't get a photo, but on our first night in Haifa Kate and I split a roasted eggplant (it comes with the stem!) with tahini on top, served with freshly-baked focaccia-type bread. We had tahini served various delicious ways, which I'll talk more about next time. It's a way more versatile dip/spread than I'd ever thought!
Haifa and Akko
In Haifa, north of Tel Aviv, we enjoyed the terraced Baha'i Gardens overlooking the Mediterranean and the best AirBnB digs of the trip (thanks, Eli!) You can see why Haifa unanimously won the "if we could live anyplace we've been to on this trip" game. 
Then we drove to Akko (Acre) to check out the restored Crusader-turned-Ottoman citadel in the pouring rain. (We also enjoyed the first of many lunches of hummus and Arabic coffee, which I will blog about separately.) The hummus joint is located inside the old suq, or marketplace, where we picked up some spices, including za'atar (a mix of thyme, sesame seeds, and salt, commonly used in Middle Eastern cuisine) and a few packets of saffron Kate later convinced herself were phony. (We'll cook with it and let you know.) 
Despite the heavy rain, I really enjoyed walking through the narrow streets of the old city. Very atmospheric. 
Next post: Zippori and the Sea of Galilee!
Puns and Praise (and More Puns)
I brought the Bones & All galley along on vacation this past month, and all four of my family members got to read it. (Jill went first, and finished the book at the end of an all-night bout of insomnia—she literally did not sleep. I was amazed she could function the next day!) They made groan-worthy puns, asked salient questions, and posed a few theories of their own. (Maren's curse as a metaphor for an eating disorder? How had I never consciously considered that?!) It was like we'd formed our own little on-the-road book club. I like to tell people this is the one project from which I've completely disengaged—that you can say whatever you like about it and my heart won't reply with that aggravating fight-or-flight business—but it still gives me pleasure to know that my family and friends are enjoying what I've written.
"A tasty treat."
"I was hungry for more."
"It's a book you can really sink your teeth into."
"It takes a couple of readings to digest it all."
"Ravenously good!"
"You are one sick, sick mother-effer." (This one from my own sister.)
And last but not least, after stopping by a Tel Aviv ice cream parlor: "We devoured them, cones and all."
@cometparty The banner ad on today's Shelf Awareness email got my really excited :) pic.twitter.com/qj7ilR44YR— Mackenzi Lee (@themackenzilee) December 5, 2014
Love these words from @cometparty on reading, writing, & how we shape our identities http://t.co/hZrW3sEK61 also books as necessary candy ;)— Adam Maynard (@agmaynard) December 6, 2014
Terrible fake-blurbs aside, there is actual cool stuff to share. First, I have an essay on Book Reporter that went up on Friday as part of their blog series on holiday bookgiving. And in save-the-best-for-last fashion, check out these generous (and, y'know, legit) blurbs I've received from two terrific authors:
"From its opening, grab-you-by-the-gut paragraph to its chilling, perfect ending, I was captivated by the story of Maren Yearly, a character unlike any I've ever encountered before. Bones & All is a riveting, utterly original, and unexpectedly tender exploration of one of the scariest things in the world: growing up."
— Elizabeth Little, author of Dear Daughter
"A dark and mesmerizing vision of adolescent desire—this book will devour you."
— Robin Wasserman, author of The Waking Dark and The Book of Blood and Shadow
Thank you very much, Robin and Elizabeth!
Further Adventures in Wartime Knitting
(Previous entries: Knitted Garments for All, Knitting for Little Men, Knitting Patterns from 1939, the Victory Jumper.)
On the tail end of my Vermont leaf-peeping weekend my friend and I stumbled upon the coolest antiques store EVER. Dozens of vendors each have their own little niche inside the one large room, and I definitely got the impression that this sales model results in higher-quality offerings all around. When we were checking out the owner said she'd enjoyed overhearing my enthusiastic exclamations over the past half hour or so ("Oh my God, a OUIJA BOARD! But don't let me buy it. Don't let me buy it!!!"), which, of course, made me love her treasure trove of an antiques shop all the more.
I just looked it up so I could link to it—Antiques at 27 Main in Bristol, Vermont—and I'm so sad to read they're closing at the end of the year. Why does every place I over-the-moon adore have to go out of business?!
Naturally, I was all over the vintage pattern books and notions. This picture reminds me of playing horseshoes with my grandfather and sister.
This one gives me MAD BABYLUST even though said child is almost old enough to be my grandmother.
I don't know when I'll get around to knitting out of this incredibly charming pattern book (isn't that always the way?), but I can tell you that I'm making use of the claret-colored bias binding in one of my Christmas presents (which I'll blog about in January). I was sewing quite a bit back in August and September, so I have to catch up on sharing those projects too.
Ugh. Still so bummed about that antiques shop going O-O-B!
Compassionate Holidays
While I was doing research for Petty Magic I came upon the magical German word gemütlich, which means cozy, cheerful belonging. I recognized it at once. After all, you have not truly known a Christmas 'til you've experienced it in the DeAngelis household.
But looking back now on all the meals I've shared with my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, I see a certain falseness lurking under that holiday cheer. We wanted to make each other feel warm, welcomed, safe, and loved, but we never extended that caring toward the animals on our plates. 
Of course, there's no sense disowning those happy memories because of the old cognitive dissonance. The turkey on the table in this first-grade drawing is an ultimately unnecessary detail; the key words are I like...to have my grandparents over.So you replace the old animal-based dishes with compassionate alternatives, and get on with the celebrating!
How to have a compassionate Thanksgiving via @JoyfulVegan! https://t.co/mkwwvAusUF #vegan #thanksgiving— Lauren (@EverydayRevelry) November 14, 2014
More Random Ireland
The next few photos are from the graveyard in Tipperary where Seanan's ancestors are buried. (I shivered just typing that.) Bán brought me there and we spent awhile looking out for the oldest stones in the cemetery. 
Vegan Chocolate Heaven
You guys know of my undying love for Taza Chocolate. Taza HQ is within walking distance of my apartment (!), but it took a visit from an Irish friend (Seanan's brother Fergal) to finally get me to sign up for one of their factory tours. And boy, do I recommend it. Well worth the $6 ticket price. 
Krisha, our tour guide, managed to pack a lot of fascinating information into forty-five minutes. The Taza founders/owners, Alex and Kathleen, loved the taste of traditional Mexican drinking chocolate and simply wanted to share it in solid form. ("Taza" means "cup" in Spanish.) We learned loads of interesting facts about how cocoa beans are grown, harvested, shipped, and processed, most of which have completely leaked out of my brain. Just take the tour! 
A few days after Fergal left, I went back to the factory with Miranda for their annual Day of the Dead celebration, complete with DJ, sugar-skull face painting, food trucks, Slumbrew beer garden, and tons of free samples. 
Taza does dark chocolate only, but lots of other companies (like Raaka and Charm School) are doing non-dairy milk chocolate now. Yet more proof that we vegans never "deprive" ourselves!
Progress Report
Immaculate Heart notes scrawled at the upstairs bar at the Beehive on the evening of April 11th, 2013. (I got the two-book deal from St. Martin's the next day. Someday soon I'll tell you the whole crazy story about the twenty-four hours leading up to the magic phone call.) 
Immaculate Heart, polished draft printed on recycled paper, early November 2014. (Working in bed because what can I say? I am my mother's daughter.) You come a long way in a relatively brief period of time—you look back, gauging that distance with no small degree of satisfaction—and then you find out just how far you have yet to go. I'm aiming to get this revision done by the end of the year...And then ask me what's NEXT! (Besides what I've already told you about.)
What's in your Noise?
I went to grad school in Galway, in the west of Ireland—where, as you may know, it rains more days than not. I lived a 25-minute walk from campus, on a road with far more motorists than pedestrians. On my way to class one afternoon, I spotted a girl about my age coming toward me on the path ahead. She carried a big brown shopping bag from one of the wooly-jumper shops in town, so I could tell at a glance that she was only visiting.We approached each other. She opened her mouth—to greet me, I supposed, so I formed the word “hello” in kind—but I was in for a rude surprise. “F**king rain!” she said fiercely, though she made eye contact as she said it. “It never f**king stops. F**k!”I stopped in my tracks, mouth wide open, and watched as she continued along the path I’d just taken. The girl never looked back. She trudged along with her shopping bags, head down and shoulders hunched, radiating aggravation. It wasn’t even raining that hard.As you can tell—seeing as this happened ten years ago now!—this fleeting and rather bizarre interaction left an indelible impression on me. We’ll set aside the fact that traveling to Ireland and then complaining about the weather is just about the most ludicrous thing you can do; what I took from that encounter is that our thoughts, mood, and actions as we move through the world affect absolutely everyone we meet.I was reminded of that young American tourist recently when I read the Chaos Walking trilogy by Patrick Ness. These YA science fiction novels are set on a distant Earth-like planet, where human pioneers have settled in the hope of creating a sustainable future. Instead, of course, they have clashed violently with the indigenous population (who bear a pointed similarity to the Native Americans) and with each other. The most unique aspect of the novel is that, owing to some biochemical quirk on this new planet, the thoughts and fantasies of human men hover in the air, perfectly audible and visible to all in the vicinity. Here’s how one of the protagonists, Todd, first presents this phenomenon to the reader:
…[T]he swamp is the only place anywhere near Prentisstown where you can have half a break from all the Noise that men spill outta themselves, all their clamor and clatter that never lets up, even when they sleep, men and the thoughts they don’t know they think even when everyone can hear. Men and their noise. I don’t know how they do it, how they stand each other.
As I read these three wonderful novels I kept asking myself one question: what would people hear and see around me, if I had “Noise”? I’d seen a long time ago that no one lives independently of the attitudes of their neighbors, even if that “neighbor” is only growling (or beaming) at you in passing; but I wasn’t always as positive as I could be on, shall we say, off color days. That girl on Bishop O’Donnell Road hadn’t really seen me at all—she’d just spewed her negativity and kept on walking—and while I’ve never cursed at a random passerby, from time to time I’ve certainly lapsed into self-involved mopery in the presence of others.I’m not implying we should suppress what we’re feeling if we’re having a bad day, only that we are still responsible for our moods even at the times when it’s hard to feel happy. It doesn't matter if you place no stock in auras, “vibes,” or other such New Age principles; the fact remains that you can walk into the space you share with a loved one and know instantly—before you have gauged their posture or facial expression, or heard a single word from their lips—that something is amiss with them.So if I’m feeling irritated I’ll do whatever I need to do to let go and move on, so that other people don’t have to deal with what is mine alone to process. Conversely, if I’m feeling cheerful, I want to do my best to spread that good feeling around! This way my thoughts and feelings are Music instead of Noise.
Wunderkind Syndrome
Wunderkind Syndrome: Or, How to Stop Wanting to Be More Amazing Than Everybody Else
There is here no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer.
— Rainer Maria Rilke. During my freshman year at NYU I took the subway uptown to the Guggenheim. When I came upon Picasso’s Le Moulin de la Galette—painted just after the great artist’s nineteenth birthday—I stood before it in a fog of self reproach. I was nineteen, and what did I have to show for myself?In that moment I succumbed to “Wunderkind Syndrome”: the frantic desire to produce an amazing work of art as soon as possible—preferably before the age of twenty, twenty five at the latest—so that everyone will hail your genius before any of your contemporaries can edge you out. Furthermore, if you’re not applying yourself to this ambition with obsessive focus then you obviously don’t want it badly enough, and if you don’t want it enough to sacrifice sleep, social life, and basic personal hygiene, then you musn’t be a true artist.Ridiculous, right? I’m chuckling as I type this. Why do we want so badly to prove our brilliance at a more tender age than everyone else? Why, in our secret (or not-so-secret) hearts, do we want to be perceived as better than everyone else?Perhaps the first reason is, of course, that our culture is obsessed with youth (and generally at the expense of substance). We feel this panic to produce something while the world still casts us in an attractive light.The second factor to consider is the scarcity mentality, which has haunted our species from the African savannah all the way to the Walmart Black Friday stampede. There are only so many accolades to go around—only so much gallery space, only so many slots on the “big five” publishers’ seasonal lists—and we grow desperate to claim our share as soon as we possibly can.But the ultimate reason has nothing to do with cutting throats or getting trampled. We all want to be loved and accepted for who we are, and because our art feels like the truest expression of that identity, it’s all too tempting to conflate output with intrinsic worth. This misperception is most powerful during that brutal passage through adolescence. I must beam this work of my heart out into the world so that I will be seen—heard—understood. If we must make ourselves vulnerable in this way, then we might as well be rewarded for our bravery.When I first began writing fiction with an eye toward publication, in 2001, a nineteen year old with a book deal was a rare bird. These days, thanks to the rocketing popularity of young adult fiction and the ease of digital publishing, you can find teenaged authors seemingly everywhere you look. Amanda Hocking, whose phenomenal self-publishing success led to a million-dollar deal with, ahem, my own publisher, has mentioned in interviews that she wanted to publish by the age of 26 because that’s how old Stephen King was when he came out with his first novel, Carrie. When I read an ARC of Hocking’s own debut novel, I made a game of underlining the adverbs, which appeared in ludicrous profusion on nearly every page. Apologies for the snark here, but she could have taken a few more years to hone her craft.Still, I know exactly where Amanda Hocking was coming from. Just before my twenty-second birthday, I finished the last scene of a 600-page manuscript, hit the print button and mailed that teetering pile of paper off to a literary agent. I look back on the girl I was then, and try not to smile too condescendingly. I did get my first book deal at twenty five, but I put those three intervening years to good use: writing all night, sleeping ’til noon, forging lasting friendships with my grad school classmates, and going to classes knowing only that I had a hell of a lot to learn. In essence, I was working on a much more practical form of character development: I stopped believing the world owed me something and focused on telling an engaging and meaningful story.In Show Your Work, Austin Kleon cites John Richardson’s biography of Picasso. According to Richardson, Picasso was notorious for sucking the energy out of anyone who paid him a visit: somebody with stars in his eyes would show up hoping to be inspired by the great artist, only to leave hours later feeling completely exhausted and depressed. Picasso, meanwhile, retreated to his studio and painted all night with renewed vigor. This is why many of Picasso’s contemporaries wanted nothing to do with him personally.The asshole-genius is a false binary—you can see something you painted as a teenager in one of the world’s finest art museums without turning into a psychic vampire!—but we may still find ourselves striving for notoriety at any cost if we lose sight of these two basic truths:
1. Getting a fancy book, film, or record deal does NOT make you a better artist.2. Getting a fancy book, film, or record deal does NOT make you a better person.
In his 2008 TED talk Benjamin Zander, longtime conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, says, “I have a definition of success. For me, it’s very simple: it’s not about wealth and fame and power. It’s about how many shining eyes I have around me.” Zander is now in his seventies, and the viewer gets the distinct impression as he bounds down the steps to engage with his audience that he is sharing the wisdom he has accumulated over seven decades of conscious living. He has nothing to prove; he’s only offering the best that is in him, a trove of abundance that goes on accumulating with every passing year.How absurd, then, to think that one’s insight and ability have a sell-by date, when they ought to have a “do not sell before” date! Art isn’t a sporting event; it isn’t a race. No one is standing before you holding up their wrist to tap at their watch. Besides, there’s always going to be someone out there who’s achieved your goal at a younger age, who’s garnered more commercial success or critical accolades and awards. Wunderkind Syndrome will siphon off your creative energy if you give in to it.In the end, of course, no one gives a crap how young or old you are. If you’ve written a good book or snapped a stunning photograph, your work will circulate in the world on its own merits.* * *Edit: Nora Mathews pointed me to this 2008 New Yorker article by Malcolm Gladwell on genius and precocity.* * *This post became a chapter in Life Without Envy: Ego Management for Creative People.
Bones & All Q&A + PM/MM giveaway!
Just a quick note to tell you I've got an interview about Bones & All at Peace, Love, Teen Fiction today! It's too soon to be giving away a copy, but you can enter to win either of my first two novels.
Happy birthday to my favorite person!
IMG_0284
In our culture we make a big stinkin' deal about turning thirty, and then it turns out to feel not so different from any other birthday. Still, there's a quiet momentousness to it: you let go of the doubts and confusion of the twenties, and grow into yourself. My "little" sister turned 30 last week, and I thought I should give her something suited to the occasion. Kate and Elliot have decorated their home primarily with photographs and other artwork from their travels. I thought back to the gorgeous Nouveau window in the front door at the Tesla museum in Belgrade (which we'd visited on our Eastern European tour back in 2007), and decided to recreate it for them. (If you click on that link you can see the original window.) Last things first: I ordered a custom frame (12" x 36") made from reclaimed barn wood (swoon!) from Signed and Numbered on Etsy, since it would take a few weeks to make and ship. I didn't know yet which colors I'd use for the background, so I just chose a distressed "robin's-egg-blue" (read: green) finish because it seemed like a color I'd want to use in the piece.Then I picked up large sheets of paper from Dick Blick, one black for the "wrought iron" and one white for the background. Sketching and Exacto-ing was really relaxing, even meditative. Naturally I didn't get down to business on the background until a few days before I was leaving for D.C. I picked up a set of Holbein oil pastels (a medium I hadn't used since high school), plus a few more complex colors (Sennelier brand) a la carte, which were an absolute joy to draw with; alternating between the two brands reinforced for me just how important is the quality of one's materials. The Holbein pastels were adequate; the Sennelier pastels were like drawing with (plant-based) butter (only not nearly as messy as that sounds!) Investing in the best-quality materials you can afford is money well spent. Okay, I'm going to be honest with you. I only finished the background the morning of my departure. I still think it looks pretty good for being a seat-of-my-pants effort though: (The other thing is that I can always swap out the background if I ever come up with something I'm happier with, and that Kate would prefer. At any rate, the "wrought iron" is the point of the piece; I just needed the background to offer a sense of depth and distance.)Kate wanted to wait until Sunday to open her present, for the same reason that we try to space out our Christmas gifts. Open everything at first opportunity, and face the deflation of it's all over already! They'd hired a hip hop band for the birthday party Saturday, and it was a really fun night. We stayed up late, Elliot made a delicious potato-kale-onion breakfast hash in the morning, and then they opened the box. A very satisfying art project, I must say!
Leaf peeping in Vermont
I went camping with a friend at Button Bay over Columbus weekend, and we passed the most gorgeous day clambering up and down Mount Abe. 
(It's only recently occurred to me that I ought to finish blogging about Uganda and Rwanda before we leave for Israel and Jordan next month. I can't believe that trip was over a year ago already...)
Ginger lemonade
I turned in my 2016 novel revision the week before last, but I still don't feel much like blogging lately. Too many new projects jostling for attention!
Here's something on the list for my "uncookbook," though it's so simple I don't even know if I can call it an unrecipe: juice half a dozen (or so) lemons and a few sections of ginger, adding water and maple syrup to taste. (I made a full pitcher's worth.) That's it! 
Fresh lemon and ginger offer awesome health benefits, by the way. I got this locally-grown ginger at the Amherst farmers' market while I was visiting Susa a couple weekends ago. (More on that trip eventually—some potentially life-changing stuff happened!)Some other stuff I've been making: 
Sweeter than the face of Ishtar
Last Christmas my sister and I were going through more of our grandparents' stuff, and we found this poster I'd made in high school—most likely for English class given that it's a paean to Sylvia Plath.
I looked at this drawing for the first time in...what, fourteen years?...and thought, "Gosh, that's beautiful." (How could I have forgotten what a gorgeous poet she was?) Kate thinks I should frame it.I also love that I'm still using the same set of Prismacolors!
#100happydays of Drawing
I haven't been at all diligent about tweeting my daily drawings, but I'm still at it, and that's the important thing. I'm nearing the end of the one hundred days now, and ironically enough the only two days I've missed were during Squam! So I figure I can do a hundred and two days and call it even.
#100happydays, day/drawing #16. First drawing from imagination. I'm quite fond of it. pic.twitter.com/g28p9KRLLV— Camille DeAngelis (@cometparty) July 17, 2014
#100happydays, day/drawing #36: NYC mime out of the @humansofny book. pic.twitter.com/FnNG8dxJ0y— Camille DeAngelis (@cometparty) September 1, 2014
#100happydays, day/drawing #25: Catal Hoyuk fertility idol. pic.twitter.com/BRish4n2sE— Camille DeAngelis (@cometparty) August 10, 2014
What's next after this challenge? For the past two Wednesdays I've gone to drawing night at the Museum of Fine Arts, and I'm really excited about both the figure drawing practice and sketching whatever calls to me out of the collections. (There's a model the first three Wednesdays of the month, and on the last Wednesday you're sketching the art.) Let me tell you, MFA membership is an AMAZING deal: I paid $75 for the year, and can visit "for free" whenever, not to mention the shop/cafe discounts. Seeing as I wanted to start coming to these drawing nights regularly, membership was a no brainer. 
Last Wednesday I started by drawing this Mayan incense burner... 
...But this fertility idol (also from Mexico, Lagunillas style, c. 250BC—250AD) was totally calling to me. 
I only stayed to sketch two poses yesterday because it was getting hungry out. (I was meeting a friend to write in the museum cafe beforehand, but they were out of the hummus plate.) Of course, you can draw from the collections whenever you like, and I have my eye on a few pieces I'd like to sketch with my Prismacolors in the same way. I'm still enjoying the Micron pens though (and I picked up some colored ones at the Dick Blick sale last week!)I left the museum last week feeling absolutely exhilarated, like I did when I was a child and had just drawn something I was really proud of. Glad to be making a habit out of this!