I really want to love you. Really, I do. I have tried to make you my primary language, but my old paramour, word, keeps coming between us.
Once pen hits paper, I betray you. I don't mean to do it. Word just make it so easy for me to return.
Sketch, when we dance, we make ugly lines. You get on my nerves with your imprecision. Where letters cut nice curves and bold strokes on the page, you squiggle and squirm and slip around like an eel. It's like you don't want to commit or be tied down.
When I present words, people react clearly.
"I get that."
"I see what you're trying to say."
These are reactions I understand.
When I present you, sketch, they twist their heads, contort their brows and smile as if I have fed them a meal of Vegemite and lemon juice. "That's ... nice...?" Oh, they so desperately want to put a period at the end of that sentence. They can't (or that's how it appears to me, at least. There may be some projection going on there.).
I couldn't end that statement with a period either. That's why I didn't. See, that was precise -- the choice of whether to place a period or question mark at the end of "that's nice".
Were this piece a sketch, that would be an errant line, a ham-fisted attempt at expressing complexity. It would likely slip past the viewer like a spider crawling in the shadows. Ugh, and I hate spiders.
But I am going to keep trying. A friend and colleague recommends giving it 100 hours. I really have not put that kind of time into our relationship. Nor have I really taken the time to look you up and get to know you. I just found you in the room with me one day and we grabbed a drink, got sloppy and, well, stayed that way.
So, sketch, I have my phone app, my tablet app and goodness knows how many blank sheets of paper. Let's try this again: Hi. 'Want to dance?