Twenty odd years ago, I drew this boy walking into the woods. A writer friend wanted me to illustrate a story she hoped to get published by the publishing company where she worked. As I drew and sketched and tried to organize my ideas, I felt washed out to sea without compass or oar. I didn't know those were normal feelings that needed to be endured while I went ahead with the work. I thought they meant I was unable to do it, so I backed out of the project, a regrettable decision, though I felt relief at the time. Had I stuck with the project, I believe I would have made long strides as an artist.
I like this picture better than the one above, though the figure is less expressive. I like how the woods are beginning to enfold the boy. I feel there are delights hidden around the corner. I like the wetness and looseness and the crazy ultramarine shadows. The trees feel more alive.