The career was unavoidable, lead to me by an addiction to good pens.
Or pencils. And paper.
The “hand”, finish, edge, feel, hue, weight, texture. Uncapping a fountain pen and pressing the nib across the fresh free field of a sketch pad. Leaning my hand into the table as my fingers move a fine point pen into a fast soldiered-pattern of shading and details.
Scattered about my house, on each of my work spots, whether they be my hearty kitchen island, my glass-topped iron wrapped studio desk, my farmers table turned drafting and painting platform, are precious cups, mugs, glasses and crocks filled with even more precious & ready drawing instruments, eager to be chosen to skate along, trailed by an ink fable.
m wood pen 