So I woke up this morning, stretched like a tired lion, grabbed my pen, and told myself: Let me just flex these artistic muscles real quick.
No plan. No coffee. No warm-up. Just pure, unfiltered creative recklessness. And then bam! out of nowhere, this confident, curvy queen appeared on my page like she owned the place.
I don’t know her name. I don’t know where she came from. But sis has attitude, angles, and more personality than I had in my entire morning.
Was I aiming for anatomy? Not really. Did I care about proportions? Also no. But did I enjoy scribbling her into existence like a proud mad scientist? Oh, absolutely.
It’s wild how your hand sometimes knows more than your brain. Like “Don’t worry, bro, I got this,” and suddenly draws a woman who looks like she models on weekends and throws shade professionally.
She’s definitely not perfect, but she’s got proesence. The kind of energy that says: "Yeah, I was born from a random pen scribble. And I STILL look good. What about it?"
Moral of the story? Never underestimate what your sketchbook (and a bored artist) can produce before breakfast.
