Not a good art day for me. This is my current project:
It’s not art, per se, but there’s some artistry involved. That’s the interior bits of a $250,ooo mass spectrometer that I have to take apart, clean, and put back together this week. Lots of little parts that have to be precisely placed. Dropping anything would be a disaster. And I have to work with a few rather unpleasant chemicals.
This is what I get paid the big bucks for, so I have to make it a priority over other things. Boo. I’d rather draw.
I didn’t really want to clean these parts today, but the dinosaurs forced me into it, by trying to help me diagnose what was wrong with the mass spectrometer.
— Penny NaNo Higgins (@paleololigo) November 12, 2014
The only art I can really accomplish today is the literary kind. Here’s an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel. I’m currently staying on track (barely) to write my 50,000 words for November.
Henry turned his eyes to the man beside him. Older then his own father. Worn. But happier. A man whose life was well-lived. He wore a knee-length blue cote, with the golden herons of Herongarde embroidered upon it. “Is that silk?” Gilbert stroked his the embroidery. “Yes. Yes it is. And I did this work myself.” “Embroidery? One might argue that is women’s work.” “Aye. But what think you?” said Gilbert. “I have more than once been accused of being far too womanly,” Henry muttered. “I am not a woman.” “No you’re not,” said Gilbert. “I consider the pursuits of arts, like embroidery, to be scholarly, not womanly.” He shrugged. “Plus, I’m rather particular about my clothes.” “I’ve noticed,” said Henry. His face started to burn. He said too much.