I continue to use myself as a life model. Or is it live model?
My husband, patient dear soul that he is, has been and would be very patient and sit for me. But the truth is he always wants to see the result and it's always nothing like him but he feels compelled to say something reassuring to me. I don't need reassurance. I don't do drawing of myself thinking they will look like me. I do them to see how to work with shading or see how a pen will work or what will water do to this ink. Taken together, all the drawings I've done of myself, well, in total there are maybe two or three that come close to looking like me. Some are so off they make me howl. And I love them all. Well, I don't, but I do love doing them. I'm terribly patient. Almost as patient as my cats. And I don't mind it when I stare or squint or grunt, which is more than I can say for the cats. So they will continue. For better or worse.