I just began a figure drawing - just a quick sketch, and it's embarrassingly out of proportion - but it's a start. I didn't realise how much better I would feel once I started it. It feels like home, the brush of conté on paper, the shading of shadows. The familiar love for the white stick of chalk.
I missed it, but I was afraid to try again. Now I know that I haven't lost everything, after all.
