Oh dear, it seems I have no head for work, and now Frank has started something with the paint application, and thinking of Babar made me all elephant-befuddled, so here's another picture. Of Babar, before he left the jungle. Behind a tree (I couldn't work out how to draw an elephant's tail). And a hot sun.
And now, with my mind all elephanty, it's brought back the memories of my mother telling us the story of The Elephant's Child, who lived on the banks of the great, grey, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever trees. My little child mind seriously thought it was her own story (she did make up the most wonderful stories too - flower children, we had curtains with them on - story for another post). until we read it at school!
Ah, how to coax my mind back to work I wonder?
2 comments:
As someone else who was raised with Babar, I am dazzled with admiration at your artwork!
Did you know you'd be this good??
Just SO stories?
Why thank you. Just so stories, yes. My mum used to make the Elephant's Child's voice go all nasal when the crocodile got his nose. We loved it and dissolved in mirth. Every time x
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