Especially since I haven’t brought anyone here, not yet anyway. Right now this is a place for me to fling things up that won’t just be bumped off the front page in a day, or mysteriously disappear (well barring fun wordpress mishaps anyway), or easily slip away from my consciousness. That’s the idea, anyway.
Which is what this blog should be about for the most part, ideas. Reading Pale Rook: How I Became a Doll Artist made me realize that I’ve been more than a little passive with my art, although that has been changing up recently with leathercrafting. Part of that was a major life change, part of it was learning to work with a new medium, but mostly it was me allowing life to get in the way.
It’s just so easy to be “too busy”, but I don’t really like being so busy I can’t keep myself sorted out. I dislike feeling like I’m being rushed, like there’s simply not enough time to sit outside and watch my chickens scratch around. I like being able to feel like I have the time to mess around with bead placement on a bracelet for however long it takes, even if in the end I end up scrapping it and going with something completely different. Maybe the fiddling comes out in another project, or maybe it just ends up being a lesson in “don’t do that, it sucks”.
In any case, I’m hoping to work more at being creative, and I’ll be posting some of the things I make and think here. To start off, here’s an ATC (Artist Trading Card) of one of my hens I sketched out. She’s an Easter Egger “mutt” chicken. She doesn’t lay proper blue eggs, she’s the lowest in the pecking order, she’s flighty and nervous. She also lays huge porcelain colored eggs, is a beautiful mahogony with black specks color and a black fluffy face, and just wants to do her own thing. Funny how much personality chickens have.
Grey Drakkon Artworks 
Chickens foraging, scratching at the dirt, one eye looking for the movement of an insect or an interesting shape or color, perhaps a seed, and there other eye on me. Chickens are in the know. Something is up, something is about to happen, and its gonna be wild. And even though wild somethings happen ten – twenty times a day, they never become routine or taken for granted. Chickens choose to not be bored and get a lot of amusement out of watching me not getting any of it at all. Like an inside joke, who’s the stupid one after all?
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