My Querencia

Betty P.

The captivating smell of fresh paint, the satisfying snap of the paint bottle closing, the quiet chatter around me.  My querencia; my art studio. I ran my fingers along my sketchbook to feel the rough texture. I spin my pencil between my fingers, sit back, and begin to draw. Images start to appear as I continue to add details to the illustration. I pause to think. My fingers tap on my chin as new ideas form in my mind, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together. I hear the coarse bristles of a paintbrush gently striking on the canvas back and forth as someone begins to paint. After several minutes, I finally settle on another idea. My pencil strokes become almost effortless, design plans rushing through my head. As I continue to elaborately draw, mere lines begin to form an intricate drawing. I stop to take a look at my hands. They are smudged from the graphite which the pencil produced. The graphite alters the sides of my hands from an ordinary colour, to almost jet black. Although I appear like a mess, the satisfaction of my creation is deep in my heart. I sit down enjoying the serenity of my querencia: my art studio is like my second home.