Like the wind flows through hair, did my pencil so sketch. Through torrents and currents, it waded to outline the long body of a serpentine form; a god in the depths. But it started with hesitance and doubt, a few uncertain scratches on the paper, much like a young child bracing the icy waters of a river for the first time.
Soon the lines bled out with ease, after forcing through the rough terrain of said hesitance. Armed with references and knowledge of the mighty creature I was about to bring to life, confidence in my strokes developed.
But confidence is a temperamental thing, much like the subject of my current obsession. I’d pushed and it retaliated. No more was it a benevolent ally but, instead, had become a force I had to reckon with. I pleaded as my pen skidded and came to a halt. The river had been drained of inspiration.
I retreated, away from its watery territory and let it be. But I looked back. And I saw it. The great dragon was complete. In my folly, I had attempted to push it further when it did not wish for that. It wished for more.
I offered a sacrifice in the form of my ego and transferred the skeleton of the majestic creature to the warm liquid of my screen.
There he demanded a domain. A palace. Life.
Only fitting for a god.
Being the humble servant, I complied. First with the ocean behind him, swelling, alive. It breathed through and around him. With it, came the currents, torrential and merciless. As he but also not. His domain was complete. Yet was not.
He demanded regal colours to define and represent him. To show his authority and power, his wrath and wisdom, his ancient age and relevance. Black, red, and gold. And at once, he took his final form. An evolution complete. Satisfied.
So now he twists with the currents and waves through the ocean’s breath. Protecting, guiding. At one.