I had forgotten how much I loved The Hobbit. This weekend I picked it up again and was transported back to the very first time I read it as a teenager. My sister, Paula, had loved Tolkien's books ferociously and from time to time would try to get me to draw an accurate hobbit. She would give me a detailed description which was deeply engraved in her memory after multiple readings and I would set to the task, determined to dazzle her with my genius. She loved me very much and was a staunch supporter of my work even back then, but I never could draw a hobbit that she liked. I'm certain if she were to see this drawing, it would be no exception. Sadly, she passed away a few years ago but I think of her as I read every page and it's made this visit to Middle Earth that much richer for me.
That's the beauty of this book and all books, I suppose. When we read them we paint our own landscapes and cast our own characters and woe to any fool who thinks he can just whip out a sketch and say "here's your hero!"
It's doomed to failure, really.
On the other hand, I did promise a sketch a week.
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