This is the end result of February's Thing-a-day challenge - a grand total of 21 out of 28 days; somewhat interrupted by earthquake happenings towards the end. Now I can see the series as a whole, I notice how dark the images became in the last week or so. It was hard going at times - not the drawing bit so much, but the pressure of posting publicly when I wasn't always happy with the result. Good for me though, and it's a great practice, this daily drawing - so often I'm caught up with the idea of creating something finished and perfect (haha) that all spontaneity goes out the window. I see these little images as starting points for other things, but maybe some of them are 'finished' enough, and possibly portfolio-worthy - what do you think?

Today New Zealand (and some places abroad) stopped for two minutes silence at 12.51pm, the time of the earthquake one week ago, standing quietly as one. Feeling safe seems like such a precious thing right now. And then today a crane operator discovered two objects which seem to be time capsules, hidden under a statue that was erected in 1867 and fell last Tuesday. They haven't been opened yet, but they are being talked about as a symbol of hope for Christchurch's future. Amazing that they have been there for over a hundred years and were only found today, a week to the day the earthquake hit.

Some things that have struck me about this weekend: thousands of people leaving Christchurch, some for good, that the central city is like a ghost town. That since the earthquake on Tuesday, bird song in the city has disappeared. And on the radio, although there are still the interminable news updates,  there is now also music. They are playing requests from people down there, and one of the most played songs is the Beatles 'Blackbird.'

In the middle of post-earthquake chaos emerge stories of courage and kindness. Words like fortitude, goodwill, compassion, cooperation,  love and even good spirits are mentioned constantly, which makes a change from the normal everyday news we are used to in non-disaster times. Of course there are also stories of looters stealing generators and even media impersonating hospital staff so they can get in and interview injured people, but they are in the minority. Pulling together and doing what you can to help is the order of the day at the moment, everywhere.

It's impossible to keep doing these daily drawings and not be influenced by what's going on in Christchurch. As news filters out from the rescue teams, the numbers keep rising. As they dig through the rubble and uncover more bodies, the stories become more personal, with names slowly being released of real people, not just numbers. There are a lot of people waiting - especially for news of their loved ones who haven't come home. Talking to some of my Christchurch friends, there's also the anxious subconscious waiting for the next sickening aftershock. There are also stories of hope; of people being pulled from flattened buildings, narrow escapes, the incredible help and support pouring in from not only this country but from all over the world. It's a strange and surreal time.

As you may have heard, Christchurch (New Zealand, where I live) was hit yesterday by a fatal and violent earthquake. Many lives have been lost, and it's as if a heavy thick cloud is covering our country, which is in its very first declared national state of emergency. There is a lot of sadness, and bewilderment, and fear. I definitely did not want to do any drawing yesterday, but today I decided that I needed to keep going, regardless of how I was feeling. And I'm glad I did.

Ever feel like this? A bit awkward and not particularly comfortable... I've definitely felt like that at certain times in my life (although I am not a cat nor do I own a giant pink coat, thank goodness).

Every day (or most days) I think: 'I can't do this today. I have no ideas.There is not one jot of inspiration in my being. I would much rather lie on the sofa and watch Masterchef with some cheese and crackers and a glass of wine.' And every day (at least most), I make myself get out some paper and a pen and at least start. And when I do that, something always comes out of it, even if it's not the work of art I would like to see.  It's a constant battle with the demons of apathy and 'can't be bothered'. So, having come this far, I am hopeful that I will get to the end of the month and know that I've done at least twenty drawings, regardless of all the carrying on of my inner sloth!

Songs from the 1940s, faded childhood photos, ancient love letters, slow motion anything, old forgotten toys, small helpless animals, a tiny piece of baby clothing and the first lost tooth, twilight, saxophon/piano/cello music, my books from primary school...it doesn't take much to get me going. And certain songs linked to moments in my past (usually to do with traumatic love affairs), like this one.

In a meeting today, half-listening, a bit bored and doodling, which is what I was always in trouble for at school. Frequently told to get my head out of the clouds and my feet back on the ground, and often feeling slightly out of step with the rest of the world. Lucky that I'm grown up now (kind of) and can ignore that kind of advice.