I've continued with the pages of squiggles, most of which I won't inflict on you, except for this one, because it's a little different and, I think, kind of neat. I remembered that I've had, in one of my desk drawers, a collection of pen nibs which have rattled around in there virtually untouched for years and years. In fact I think when we moved eight years ago I simply took each desk drawer, poured it into a box, moved the box and the desk, and then poured the boxes back into the proper drawers. So these nibs might not have been evacuated in over a decade.
The funny thing is I have this collection of calligraphy pens and nibs and books on calligraphy and I don't remember ever buying a single one. All of them were given to me by my parents, all well over twenty years ago. I hardly ever do calligraphy and when I have done it, I've been partial to very particular sizes, so the rest of the sets have never seen ink. They've just sat around in boxes and drawers and on shelves.
The nib I had in mind was another crow quill, but this one is a lot more flexible than the one I'd been using, which gives me a wider range of lines. Which I found fun to play with. Inside me there's a calligrapher struggling to escape -- these are like calligraphy without the letters. I love curves that parallel each other.
While doing these I've been thinking of Joan Miró. I don't think of this as a great development; I'm not deeply familiar with Miró's work, but what I have seen never really did much for me. Nevertheless my squiggles put me in mind of his biomorphic shapes. So I did a search for his work online and I found this: Dutch Interior, I. I was surprised to find that little five-line squiggle of his.
