Re-reading Tove Jansson and older Maurice Sendak compelled me to create a short comic in black ink lines, a style I never really engaged in before. I was surprised at how much my brain enjoyed the simplicity of using only one color and medium. I was able to focus on the movement from panel to panel, in subtle shifts, on building emotion.

The scratch scratch scratch of pen on bristol was satisfying, meditative in a way I remember only from years ago, before I worked for myself full-time, before illustration carried with it the pressures of stability, income, or impressing others. As I enter my second (and final) year of graduate school, I’m beginning to experiment less wildly and turn back to the methods that have always intrigued me: simple pencil or ink on paper, deliberate lines. In the past, I have always done more, more, more—searching for an answer haphazardly.

Nothing major has changed. No big breakthroughs or milestones, just a general settling of anxiety and acceptance of where I am in this journey. Now, the answers feel within reach. I still don’t see them, but I know they’re there. I still find myself trying to do more—without hiding under costumes of color and mixed media. Simple lines for simple textures that, when combined with a simple story…come together to do much more.