“That’s what the artist does.” Right. Or not. Am attempting to sketch a dress I wear to my first high school dance. I am a writer, not an artist. Clearly.
Working on a forthcoming book I often refer to as ‘the dresses book,’ actual title Dressing Up. Growing Up, telling a usually highly intelligent friend during a phone visit that I am simply not good at drawing.
Surely my artist will significantly improve upon what I provide except I can’t exactly just tell her “Oh, I need drawings of my eighth grade graduation dress, the dress I wear to travel by train to visit my Aunt, Uncle and cousins during the summer another year – think I am so sophisticated because I wear pumps and carry a train case – the suits I buy while living and working in San Francisco for a time, the very dressy suit for my daughter’s wedding,” you get the idea.
And, the artist needs ideas.