As well, it was beginning to rain, and I wasn't keen to go out again, but I felt a bit ashamed of myself, having half an hour in Paris that I was on the verge of "wasting." Pater had no such compunctions about reading Le Monde in the room, so I grabbed journal and pencil, sat at the window, and thought I'd try to be loose and quick about grabbing the architectural details across the street.
I have to say, though, that after ten minutes, what I had on the page made me feel very much the way I did in Grade School, and I was giving in to that "I'm Not Artistic!" voice of my Noisy Inner Critic, the original Mean Girl. I closed the book before I took a big eraser to the whole page, and a few days ago, I decided that I'd at least see what happened when I reinforced the pencil lines with ink, trying to maintain that same looseness.
I didn't hate the sketch quite as much by the time I finished, and since it was now permanently on the page, and I've been playing a bit more with the paints, I added the red canopy, and then gave those scribbled trees some colour. The building colour isn't quite right, but by the time I finished -- I cut and glued in the hotel information from the little notepad they provided -- I had another page to remind me about a Paris moment. . .
Right now, we've just returned from a language lesson taken after a long day cycling to the market in a neighbouring town, about 55 kilometres return trip, and I'm honestly too tired to come up with any questions for you. Perhaps you have some for me. Perhaps you have a comment or two. Perhaps you're waving silently across some ocean or continent or other.
As for me, I'll end with one last example of Street Art, Graffiti, at least. . . . Bonne nuit, les copains....