Tag: writerlife

I’m not un-artistic. I’ve got a pretty good eye for colors and a decent sense of taste in fashion and interior decorating (at least, no one recoiled in horror from most of my living spaces, so I’m calling it a victory. small victories. yes). but I don’t have the time or inclination to get good at it. I knew a long time ago that someday I was going to have to find myself a willing artist/victim/collaborator if I wanted to render my wild, colorful ideas.

so along comes this man with whom I fall irreversibly in love. we buy an iPad. he starts sketching. we get married. he starts doing 3-D art and practices at least ten hours a week at drawing, painting, and sculpting digitally.

suddenly…I have my artist.

I’ve made it clear that my dearest has no obligation whatsoever to indulge my silliness and brainstorming kicks, but he seems to love it. he’s been designing me space fighters, bubble cities, ornate weapons, and alien species. almost every day, he asks me what I want to see him draw, or what he can model for me.

some time I’ll write separately about watching his transformation from frustration with a pencil to innate confidence with a stylus. that journey, in and of itself, is going to make for some inspirational material. for now: he’s mine and he’s talented and even if neither of us ever make a dime off our work (too late, for both), we can play in our shared sandbox for the rest of our lives.

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