Back in the good old days before my parents moved and they were unloading all my childhood things on me, I found my old sketchbook. I've never been even slightly artistic and I've never been under any illusions that I am, but that didn't stop me. The book is full of horse drawings from my old favorite "How to Draw Horses" book, a picture of my middle school, and a few self-portraits, because before Instagram existed, we had to actually draw our selfies with a pencil and paper.
Anyway. There's one particular picture which I thought was SUPER GOOD at the ripe old age of 11, but when I re-discovered it at 26 I had to hold on to a piece of furniture so I didn't fall over laughing.
|Please notice the tattoo choker.|
For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what this picture reminded me of, but I knew it reminded me of something. It's been bothering me for weeks.
Last night, James and I were up super late because we were laying in bed quoting Napoleon Dynamite and laughing (marriage!). And then it hit me. Trisha! All I'm saying is, I think Napoleon and I must've taken the same art classes.
As you can see, I still have to practice my upper lip shading.