I had an idea of the color scheme I was going for; the feeling of the piece called for semi-muted colors that were at the same time vibrant.
I settled on a palette of browns, blues, oranges, and purples.
After lazily ripping out sheets of tracing paper, I carelessly sketched five different drawings of my assembled objects all from a different view point.
Then, with the annoying encouragement of my teacher, I was forced to find a window and tape all my sketches up one on top of the other and then tape a blank piece of white paper on top of all the sketches.
At that moment the world stopped moving and nothing existed except the artist and her work.
I could not help but relate myself to a character I had just read about in class.
My tracing paper sketches were inconsiderately crumpled up and tossed into the trash, and in my hands I now held the skeleton of my Cubist drawing.
That drawing had to be one of the most surprising things I had ever experienced.
Some figures needed to be given depth, some needed to remain absolutely flat, and others needed to be somewhere in between.
My eyes screamed in protest as they were forced to concentrate over and over again on the meticulous task of perfecting the color of every single form.