Putting pencil to paper, I draw a few black lines.
Mostly, I leave untouched the white empty space surrounding them. Lines should have room enough to grow, to move about the page.
Yet something has gone terribly wrong.
I wait for them to take shape. To form something worthy and honorable and altogether lovely. Anything at all.
But nothing happens.
Without the artist’s creativity, lines remain geometric points, the space between a barricade.
Today, I’ll sit back down and try to sketch out a little more.
Image Credit: Pixabay
Return to The Catholic Conspiracy