Morning Warmups

It was one of those beautiful mornings. In order to warm my hands and gently set about moving I reached for my sketchbook and pencils set by the bed. Often sketching is the last thing I do at night and the first thing I do in the morning. I was having a bit of a problem coming up with ideas for "what to draw". Staring out the window, the pencil did it's work for me. I stopped thinking and ran with what the pencil wanted and the next and the next. Soon enough the drawing was complete and I found myself working on another.



I was transported to a moment many years ago, walking with my little daughter, about the same age as my grand daughter is now. Private moments on a moist Toronto autumn day so long ago. My hands kept changing pencils and hungrily moved on to another drawing .



The three trees I passed as a child on Sunday walks with my parents. The trees were set exactly at the edge of the dijke.



Old trees, most probably they had been there when Rembrandt walked that stretch in his lifetime. That thought was too daunting, still, as long as I don't compare, leaving Rembrandt out of it.