Tonight, while sitting on the couch not doing anything out of the ordinary, I suddenly NEEDED to draw, scribble, paint — something. I needed to just throw color on paper, I didn't care WHAT it looked like.
I went into the complete mess that is supposed to be our art/photography room, grabbed the first art supplies I could find, and a sketchbook that has been languishing on a shelf in the corner.
I sat on the floor in my home office and just scribbled. I picked whatever color seemed right and started making marks on the paper. Quick, hard, random, swirly. Up, down, zigzag and crosshatch. After three sheets, I grabbed the red oil pastel and imprecisely drew a flower, building the shape hastily, quick strokes this way and that, building color, yellow smearing with red. More color, more definition.
Blue. Scratch, scribble. Light blue. Swirl swirl swirl. BLACK. Define, detail, edges. Quick, quick. More red. More blue. Don't think, just DRAW.
And I was done. Sure it's pretty much just junk, but it was what I needed to do right now. And instead of letting the urge pass by, I didn't worry about perfection. Or pretty. Or artistic. Just motion. Color. Lines.