Flawless.
Graphite. Eraser shavings. Coffee-tinted paper.
It all starts with a blank page and an ephiphany of creativity.
The pencil feels at home in my hand as it glides with precision.
The marks are the accumulation of my countless tries; fails and successes.
A quick flick of the wrist.
A deep pressed charcoal gray line.
Blurred edges from my hand.
Magenta red. Spilled ink. Small construction paper stars.
Each line slowly starts to join hands, a consistent line, a togetherness only possible by my imagination.
The lines become faces. The curve of an elbow. The point of a nose.
The sparkle and shine or eyes filled with stars.
With a final line I finish.
Cobalt blue. Speckled paint. The dab of tissue paper.
My work is complete as I hold it to the light.
Flawless am I.