Posts Tagged ‘drawing-a-day’

My Left Hand

Posted on: July 16th, 2013 by jmbroekman 3 Comments


Drawing with my non-dominant hand

By necessity, I have been drawing with my left hand. Even though I don’t play tennis, I somehow (was it the cello practice?) developed a wicked case of tennis elbow, that required a cortisone shot, and some mandatory rest of my right arm. Being the stubborn (or tenacious, however you want to call it) person that I am, I refused to let that stop me from my daily practice of drawing the flowers around me. The three drawings above are of a gloxinia plant that my friend Marcy gave me many many years ago. It continues to bloom several times a year, and just when you think it really is dead for good, it shows signs of life. Can someone clue me in to the lesson in that?!

Summer Solstice Flowers

Posted on: June 21st, 2013 by jmbroekman


More sketchbook drawings

Summer is officially here. While I mourn the reversal this solstice brings – days getting shorter (albeit slowly, thankfully), I do celebrate the extended warmer days of summer. The late afternoon light, which lingers until after 8:00 casts lovely long shadows across the fields around here. The flowers are blooming right on schedule. Iris’, peonies, evening primrose. The gardens are a riot of color. So welcome after the long grey winter! A few more drawings are on my FB page: JMBroekmanArtandDesign.


01 May 2013

Posted on: May 1st, 2013 by jmbroekman 2 Comments


April Drawings

April was, evidently, something of a blue month. To see the full, rather than the thumbnail version, of the drawings above, just click on them. Blue was definitely my color of choice. Now that May is here, let’s hope for some additional diversity in the paintbox. I am, again, embarking on a drawing-a-day. Stay tuned!

February Drawings

Posted on: February 22nd, 2013 by jmbroekman 2 Comments

My bones no longer carry me well

Posted on: February 7th, 2013 by jmbroekman 2 Comments

A longer poem from Janet Loflin Lee

My bones no longer carry me well

My bones no longer carry me well,
my body a bag of fog, bogwater and bits of string.
It is a winter heaviness,
like all northern people I look for the returning light.

I am compelled to sleep in the day,
more than a nap, more than a cessation of movement –
a hardening of body, soul and thought.

I have always entered into winter with a hunger
for that china plate blue sky,
the gentled muffled sound of snow –
cotton falling on cotton.

But now I yearn for an early mardi gras of color
an infusion of warmth,
a sense of movement that precedes dancing,
a slower sun, an elongated day
An afternoon that is not evening too.

I park myself by the window
following the arc of the sun.
Work undone, projects abandoned,
I have become a hoarder of light,
storing up against the dark folds
of the January nights.