It was really windy the other day, which drives me bonkers, so I came home and got it all out of my system on this journal spread. I'd done the background a few weeks ago when I was playing with paints. It looked like gusty wind to me, so I used it.
I did some writing in gold gel pen at an angle on the right page - you can sorta see it. I talked about how I could totally understand the poor housewives of the newly settled plains states going slowly insane from the unrelenting wind. Not that I have the urge to butcher my neighbors with an ax, but I can appreciate the basic instinct that drove them to such horrific acts.
You can barely see him, but there's an unshaven, going-bald man up in the upper right hand corner, blowing as hard as he can.
Self-portrait, when the wind is shrieking across the parking lot at work, blowing away tumbleweeds, trash, and my mental health. My husband took one look at this and asked me if I needed therapy. I told him no, I'll be fine - I have an art journal.