The ink girl

A nameless character looks up at me from the sketchbook page.


Not even a fully-formed face. But enough of a presence here to feel this is a person made from ink.

Id like to wear this dress – wide stripes cut from a fabric that shines, that pulls back against the wind.

'What's going on with your hair?' I ask.

'It's not my hair,' she replies, and laughs.

'So what is it, then? A hat? Light? Energy?'

'No,' she says, 'it's lines you made with a ballpoint pen.'