I've drawn a demon hell-rat.
I've had, all my life, some basic concept of aging that includes a gradual reduction in activity and ability. I think, though, that I've assumed that "activity" means gymnastics. When you become geriatric, you most likely won't be able to complete a cartwheel. Not without forfeiting the warranty on your hip replacement.
However, two things: It's not just profound feats of strength and agility you lose. Also, it happens sooner than you think.
Or perhaps it's just that old adage, "Use it or lose it" at work.
Anyway, I decided to try to do a little sketch today, just for my own personal satisfaction. When I was in high school, I was able to produce some pretty decent pencil sketches, and even started to become a little familiar with charcoal.
Recently, I've done some pretty okay color pencil sketches, mostly handmade cards for my mom.
But today? Today, friends, an abomination. I give you, the demon hell-rat...
To be fair, I was working with a new model.
She wouldn't be still, hence the live action sketch of her crouching. The tentacle coming out from her chest is her paw batting at my other pencils.
So, a defeating, humbling attempt to replicate a skill from my youth today. After jello at the nursing home, when they bring out arts and crafts, I suppose I'll opt for the play-doh so as to avoid humiliation.
Give me not your mocking crayons, nurse. The failure of the hell-rat haunts me still.