In 2017 I participated in my first Inktober. For those who are unfamiliar, Inktober is a challenge to ink a drawing every day of October based on single word prompts and then share these drawing across social media. It was a really intriguing concept, and I immediately knew why I wanted to participate: It was a competition, but with the only challenger being myself, and it was a social event I could complete with friends and others all over the world. I quickly asked a several friends to participate with me, and even bought a set of illustration markers for myself and my friend who committed. I even decided to film myself making each drawing, which turned out very rough but was still fun overall.
The beginning of Inktober went better than I had hoped. I hadn’t drawn seriously in years and was very happy that my skills hadn’t totally atrophied. The single word prompts were igniting my creativity, and I relished making drawings that interpreted these prompts with a wild, often silly freedom. The first day I drew Taylor Swift soaring head-on in a superman inspired costume. Initially, I thought it would be fun to draw the pop star as a pun of the prompt “Swift”, but then decided to make her fly when the face didn’t to have as much as a likeness as I had hoped.
The second day I decided to use the initial negative thoughts arising from the prompt of “Divided” and spin them on their head. With all the political division and policy of separation I decided to draw an older couple kissing through a chain link fence. It turned out a lot sweeter than I expected, even to the point where it might be a Pollyanna depiction of something more sinister than I realized. This was also the first time I used my new illustration markers. They were a dream. They felt so silky and the ink was much easier to control than I expected. I was really glad I got them after that day.
The days progressed from there. I was drawing again, redeveloping a skill that I long ago put on the shelf, and enjoying the therapeutic benefits of coloring and finishing a work everyday. But things changed. And it’s only now, more than a year later, that I see the change in my work.
Near the middle of the month I took a short vacation with my dad to North Carolina. I continued drawing every day, unconnected from my phone, internet or other device. I still filmed each drawing, and planned to upload them when I arrived back home. After just a few days, my dad and I received news that neither of us expected. We got a call letting us know that my younger cousin had committed suicide. The details and events surrounding the situation were grizzly, and we planned to end up trip early to be with family. We had another family vacationing near us as well, so we told them the news and explained that we wouldn’t be keeping our plans with them.
I still continued to draw every day. I had the strangest sense of motivation. I didn’t want this event to stop me, because I felt I wouldn’t be able to move forward if I actually honored my feelings. The air around me was different. The crips North Carolina mountains were still beautiful, but my family were different. They were unsympathetic, even accusatory toward my cousin. We weren’t particularly close, but I watched him grow up. I babysat him and watched cartoons with him. We played cards and went fishing. My family had similar experiences. They were a part of his life, and watching him grow up was not an experience unique to me. How could they act so coldly? This was the first time in my life that I’ve ever been disappointed my dad.
I didn’t know how to proceed. But I did have a mission–one from before these events. I continued to draw, and film. I was going to complete the Inktober challenge because it was what I had. Some people have faith. Some people have family. They pray, and they talk, and the hug. I had none of these in that tiny cabin. I had a pen, a few markers, and a camera. Luckily, I could still draw, but how I drew became different.
Before I would use the prompts to think of playful, fun situations like my Taylor Swift Supergirl or the “Divided” drawing. I continued this pattern with other drawings such as a giraffe with a top hat and monocle, an overly bendy-necked owl, and a child with the shadow of a knight.
After these events I began to draw more of what I wanted to see in the world. I drew things that I thought would be beautiful, things that I thought would make me feel calm, and things that I thought would make me feel happy. I drew dancers, and clouds bursting with color, happy pigs, people together, hugging and holder each other up.
I drew other things, too. Things that disturbing me slightly. They I’m came to my mind, but from unknown places.
I looked back at these drawings and noticed something I hadn’t before, something I wonder about now. But once I saw it, I couldn’t deny the pattern: everyone had their eyes closed. The feelings were different but the look was the same. The dancer was serene, the pig content in its mud, the crowd surfer elated by the sea of people beneath him, the couple secure in each other’s embrace. They all had reasons to be happy, and it seemed like none of those reasons existed beyond their eyelids. Curiously, the more disturbing pictures have no eyes, or they are blanked out.
I was unaware of what was happening at the time, but it became much clearer with fresh eyes. I was creating things to help me block out something I didn’t know how to deal with, which were also literally closing their eyes off to the rest of the world around them. The happy and peaceful drawings actively avoided seeing, while the more disquieting drawings simply had no means to see. All of these drawings seemed to fit this pattern, save for one.
There is one drawing of a young boy and a much larger, more muscular man. In the drawing they are having an arm wrestling competition. The giant man is in pain, wincing with his eyes closed, as the boy stares at him directly, yelling in a fit of determination. The boy is winning despite the size and strength of the man, but neither of them is having an easy time against their opponent.
Initially, I didn’t like the way this drawing turned out. I remember feeling rushed, and the overall image felt flat to me, but this drawing may be one of the more important ones I made. Instead of closing of his eyes to feel a sedated state of peace like the other drawings, the boy is intent on staring his problem in the face. Instead of being blind and monstrous like the less happy drawings, he isn’t deformed or abnormal. What he is though, is a figure that should be small and weak, fighting against a much larger, stronger, more menacing opponent–and winning.
