even on days when little of worth happens - there is a book by the dinner plate, a book in the handbag, pencil under pillow. must dispense with such scapulars soon. here's why.
men in the epic have enough to keep their hands full (battles, yagnas, rigorous vows, dramatic deaths) but my storyboard scribbles have too many mahabharatan queens just standing around - arms akimbo, or hands on hip, or hands in lap, staring at horizons, looking out of balconies. the poses repeat too often for (my) comfort. so what new way, what new prop, what new repose. (they are queens, remember. so barring exiletime, no menial chores!)
as is invariably the case, the quandary has little to do with illustration or the propping of body parts in blank space; and everything to do with my own restlessness. days are hard enough to spend undistracted - let alone the centuries, millennia, yugas my beloveds stride across. and so the queens are cursed with edgy body language until i learn stillness.