So, I decided to give those old fashion drawings a try the other day. You know, the kind you see in really old books, with all the delicate lines and that slightly faded look. I’ve always admired them, felt like they had a certain charm that a lot of modern stuff just…lacks.
It’s funny how I got to that point. I was cleaning out the attic, a real mess up there, boxes piled high from goodness knows when. Found a bunch of my grandfather’s old books. He wasn’t an artist, not really, but he had these engineering texts and some classic novels, and the illustrations in them were just something else. It got me thinking. Everything these days is so fast, so digital. Click a button, get an image. Scroll, scroll, scroll. It feels like we’re losing touch with, I don’t know, the actual work of making something.
Honestly, I think my day job has a lot to do with this feeling. I’m staring at a computer screen for eight, sometimes ten hours a day. Everything is about efficiency, optimization, slick user interfaces. And don’t get me wrong, that’s important. But sometimes it feels like the human touch gets lost in all the code and the pixels. We had this big push last quarter, a massive project, and by the end of it, I felt like a robot. Just churning out tasks. I needed a break, something completely different. Something slow.
Getting Started with the Old Ways
So, there I was, inspired by those dusty old books. I figured, how hard could it be? Famous last words, right?
First, I had to gather some stuff. I didn’t want to go too fancy, just the basics:
- Some decent paper, not too smooth. I found a pad that had a bit of texture, hoped it would grab the pencil nicely.
- A few pencils. I had a standard HB, a 2B for darker lines, and a 4H for really light sketching.
- A good eraser. This was crucial, as I soon found out.
- And, just for kicks, an old dip pen and a bottle of India ink I’d bought years ago and never really used. Thought I might get brave.
I set myself up at the kitchen table, away from the computer, which was a nice change. I put on some quiet music, not the usual podcasts or news. The idea was to just… be in the moment with the paper and pencil.
The Actual Attempt (and a Few Stumbles)
I started by trying to copy a simple botanical illustration from one of those old books. Just a leaf with some veins. Looked easy enough. Well, let me tell you, getting those smooth, confident lines like they had back then? Way harder than it looks. My hand felt clumsy. I’m so used to “undo” buttons, I guess. Making a permanent mark on paper felt incredibly high-stakes all of a sudden!
The first few tries were a bit of a disaster. My lines were shaky, the proportions were off. I pressed too hard with the HB pencil, leaving grooves in the paper that the eraser couldn’t quite get rid of. It was frustrating, I won’t lie. I nearly gave up and went back to my tablet where I can zoom in and erase perfectly.
But I remembered why I was doing this. For the slowness. For the imperfection. So, I took a deep breath and started again. This time, I used the 4H pencil for the initial sketch, barely touching the paper. That helped a lot. Then I slowly went over it with the 2B for the main outlines. Shading was another beast. I tried some cross-hatching, like in the old engravings. It’s a real skill, building up tones with just lines. Mine looked more like a confused spider had walked across the page.
I even tried the dip pen and ink on one attempt. Big mistake for a first go. Ink blobs. Scratchy lines. Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. But it was also kind of fun, in a messy, chaotic way. I got ink on my fingers, on the table. It felt… real.
By the end of the afternoon, I didn’t have a masterpiece. Not even close. What I had was a page of slightly wonky leaves, some better than others. But you know what? It felt good. I’d spent hours just focused on one simple thing. My eyes weren’t tired from a screen. My brain felt quieter. It wasn’t about the perfect end result, like so much of my other work. It was about the process, the feel of the pencil on the paper, the slight scratch of the nib.
I think I’ll keep trying. Maybe I’ll never be any good at it, but that’s not really the point anymore. It’s a good reminder that not everything has to be instant or perfect. Sometimes, the old ways, the slow ways, have a value all their own.
