And the steaming bird, fresh from the oven, rested on the sideboard, waiting to be carved for the feast of giving thanks.
And so the story continues. Have I deferred the mystery, or deepened it? Who lives in this little house in a copse of winter trees? Why is there no fire burning within, when someone is clearly still awake upstairs? Stay tuned as the story continues to unfold.
(Some progress images after the jump)
Every year it seems I forget about Inktober until about a week too late. But this year I remembered and I’m excited to do 29 more drawings! I like the restriction of it. Certainly it’s not forbidden to add color, but I’m taking it as a black and white challenge. Above is my drawing from Day one, and below is Day two. They’ll also be on my instagram (@edaggarart).
More art also at:elizabethdaggar.com.
There was a small woods across the street from the farm. Before the people bought the land and built the large farmhouse and attendant stables and fenced-in pastures, it had been a winter wheat field. If you walked across or around to the back of that field, you’d come upon a picturesque little meadow, hemmed in by trees across which was hidden a lovely woods with a little ribbon of stream running through. It was pretty at all times of year, but in Winter it truly felt like a magical realm, far away from the world.