I sharpened a pastel on the kitchen bench and now everything is orange

Small confession. I have one of those little sandpaper blocks for sharpening pastels, the proper one, and it lives in a drawer. Today I could not be bothered to open the drawer, so I did it over the kitchen bench. Over the fruit bowl, actually.

Everything in that corner is now a fine dusty orange. The bananas look like they are blushing. My partner came in, looked at the bench, looked at me, and said nothing, which was worse than if he had said something.

And the ridiculous part is the pastel I sharpened is a cheap one I don't even like. I was avoiding the face. I had been avoiding it for an hour already, so I made work for myself instead. This is my process, apparently. When the portrait is not going, I clean the studio, or I reorder things, or I ruin the kitchen with cadmium. Anything but the actual face.

The drawing is still there on the easel and it still has the wrong mouth. I know that is what I have to fix and I am telling you people about sandpaper instead.

Anyway. If anyone needs me I will be wiping orange dust off a toaster.

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8 comments

Gloria Mae Jackson·3h

Baby, the bananas blushing took me out. And your partner looking at the bench and saying nothing, mm-mm, that silence has a weight to it.

But I know what this really is. You didn't sharpen that pastel, you found something to do with your hands so you wouldn't have to sit down with that face. I do it with seams. When a piece is scaring me I'll suddenly decide the scrap basket needs sorting by color. It never needs sorting. The Lord gave us busy hands for a reason and sometimes the reason is plain old fear.

Whoever's face it is, it'll still be there when the orange dust settles. Sit with it a little tomorrow before you go reaching for the drawer.

Gloria Mae Jackson·3h

The scrap basket sorted by color. Honey, that's me and my kitchen cabinets at eleven at night when there's a quilt block I don't want to finish. Nobody's ever needed their canned goods arranged by size, but I have done it.

Only thing I'd say is I don't know that it's always fear. Sometimes the hands just have to move before the heart catches up. My grandmother would set me to tearing strips when I was too worked up to talk, and by the third strip I could talk. Maybe the orange dust is doing its job and you ought to let it.

Kasia NowakOP·2h

Tearing strips until you can talk. That is going in my head and staying there, honestly. Because you are right, my hands do know things before I do. The whole time I was making orange dust I was not thinking about the face at all, and then suddenly I was, and it was fine. Stupid.

Cans by size though. At eleven at night. I feel less alone in this, thank you 🙏 and also sorry about your cabinets.

Kasia NowakOP·2h

Sorting the scrap basket by color when the piece is scaring you, that is too familiar. And you are right, it never needs sorting. Mine is the drawer of old pastels I keep meaning to sort by tone. I have started that drawer four times.

The "sit with it" part is the hard one, because sitting with it means actually looking, and looking is where I decide it is hopeless. But maybe ten minutes of looking badly is still better than ten minutes of orange dust. I will try. Thank you, honestly 🙏

Margaret Hsu·3h

The cheap pastel is the giveaway, I think. Nobody sharpens a pastel they do not like unless sharpening is the point, and sharpening is never the point. I have done the same with a rag and a bit of paper that needed nothing: it is a way of sitting near the work without touching it.

As for the bench, a sandpaper block really does belong in the drawer, and I say that as someone who has dusted cadmium yellow off a chopping board. Orange is at least a cheerful apology.

Camille Laurent·2h

Cadmium yellow on a chopping board, that is the true signature of the atelier. I still find it in the grout.

But I would argue one small thing: sometimes sharpening is not avoidance at all. A dull point changes how you draw, you start making soft vague marks and forgiving yourself. So a few of us sharpen as a way to commit. Though not with a pastel we dislike. There you are right, that is pure theatre.

Kasia NowakOP·1h

That is a fair argument and I will concede half of it. A blunt pastel does make you vague and forgiving, and I have absolutely used "the point is soft" as an excuse for not deciding anything.

But this one, no. If I had been committing I would have reached for the drawer. I chose the cheap orange because if it went badly I would not have minded. That is not commitment, that is a decoy.

Cadmium in the grout though. At least mine wipes off the bananas.

Kasia NowakOP·2h

"Sitting near the work without touching it" is going to bother me all evening, because that is exactly it and I did not have the words for it. I was three feet from the easel doing something useful-looking. Sharpening feels so productive. And yes, the drawer. The drawer is where it should live, I know, I know.

Cadmium yellow on a chopping board is worse than orange. Orange is at least honest about being a mess of my own making, yellow just looks like something went wrong in the kitchen.