The Copic markers sat in my closet patiently. I’m more of a digital artist now (always have been, ever since I got my first drawing tablet in middle school), but to be an artist is to try new things. The alcohol marker craze captured me with their smooth, almost paint-like quality. Like many phases, I eventually outgrew it and the remains sat at the recesses of my closet until I moved. Then, they sat in an ever-so-slightly bigger closet, a bit more towards the front than before in a cabinet filled with old drawings and blank paper.
They’re in a well-loved state, the hard case wearing a coat of purple clay and multi-colored graffiti tags (I had an even shorter phase where I used paint markers every day). I’d hate to donate them, knowing how the thrift stores around here toss stuff around like it’s less than worthless, and they’re too worn out to sell. The hassle of listing it online, packing it up and sending it over wouldn’t be worth the tiny amount of gained space. Besides, I’m indecisive enough to change my mind.
By then, it would’ve been too late. And my heart, delicate thing it is, would shatter into pieces knowing that a huge part of my art journey is somewhere so far. Like a long-distance lover we’d fall out of touch, doomed by nature to fail.
When my sister came to my room asking if I had watercolor paint, I eagerly rummaged through the art cabinet and came short. I wasn’t so much into painting so the watercolors I did have were the cheap kind that came in those wooden boxes of various supplies for young beginner artists. In my haste during the move I must have gotten rid of them.
I told her I’d rather get her something better anyways. While an artist can ideally work with any supply, I’d want her art journey to go smoother than mine did at the start. Nabbing crappy paints and colored pencils whenever I could find those commodities. Like a dog desperate for scraps of pen and paper. I’d go through it at lightning speed. I was ravenous. I still am, but digital software puts my wallet at ease until I find a shiny new program to splurge on (my heart always belongs with MS Paint).
Her eyes and mine caught on those old markers at the same time. She asked about them, mostly because of how expensive they were at their peak. I asked if she wanted to keep them and showed her what I remembered of blending them in an unused sketchbook well-suited for Copics. It wasn’t much, but she seemed happy. We drew together for a bit. My doodles pale in comparison to her grotesquely detailed illustrations. She always sneaks something funny in there despite the grim nature.
I’m happy they’ll get a new life close by, even if that’s selfish to want.
No matter how she views her art, I’ll always admire it like a star-filled sky; infinite and vast and full of experiences I’ll only ever see through those vague picture frames.
I wonder what those markers will make next.