Oliver’s been my unwitting art teacher again. Found him curled in this perfect spiral on my drawing table this morning, right on top of my gesture studies.
Spent an hour just watching him breathe. Amazing how much you can communicate with just the curve of a spine, the tilt of an ear.
Been thinking about efficiency in mark-making lately. How many lines do you really need to capture essence? Cats understand this instinctively – they never waste a movement.
Pulled out my softest pencil. Started with the spine – that’s where sleep begins. Everything else flows from there. When Oliver sleeps, his whole body becomes a single, flowing line.
The Japanese masters understood this. Their ink paintings of sleeping cats – just a few brush strokes, but they capture everything. Started studying their techniques last week. Every mark must earn its place.
Interesting thing about drawing sleeping cats – you have to unlearn anatomy. Not completely, but you need to see how gravity reshapes it.
A sleeping cat is liquid geometry. All those proud angles melt into curves.
Did some gesture studies – 30 seconds each. Oliver kept shifting positions, but that was perfect. Forces you to capture just the essential lines. No time for details. Pure essence.
The ears are fascinating. Even in deepest sleep, they’re still gently alert. Little radar dishes tuned to dreams. Found myself using just the edge of my pencil, barely touching the paper.
Started experimenting with different papers. The rough stuff catches graphite like cat fluff catches light – all these tiny shadows building form. Been working on suggesting fur texture with just a single stroke.
There’s this moment when Oliver’s about to fall asleep – his whole body softens. That’s the hardest thing to capture. How do you draw tension leaving? It’s about knowing which lines to erase.
Filled a whole sketchbook just studying his paws. The way they tuck and fold. Nature’s masterclass in compact design. Whenever I think I understand, he shifts and shows me something new.
Had a breakthrough today. Was struggling with showing weight in my sketches – how to make a drawn cat look heavy with sleep. The secret isn’t in adding more lines. It’s about making the white space feel heavy.
The negative space around a sleeping cat tells half the story. It’s like they create their own gravity well, and everything else just flows around them. Started paying more attention to the shapes between the shapes.
My studio mate asked why I keep drawing the same sleeping cat. But it’s never the same cat, never the same sleep. Each nap is its own study in fluid dynamics.
Bought some new brushpens. The variable line weight is perfect for this project. Thick where Oliver presses against the floor, thin where he lifts into space. Like a topographical map of consciousness.
Here’s what six weeks of cat-watching taught me about drawing:
- Most lines are optional
- Gesture comes first
- Weight isn’t drawn – it’s implied
- Negative space is positive space in disguise
- The softest marks speak loudest
- Sometimes the best line is an erased line
Oliver shifted positions at least seventeen times during this writing. Each time, a new lesson in economy. A cat never uses two muscles when one will do. Why should a drawing use two lines?
Tomorrow I’ll start exploring how light moves across fur. But for now, there’s a perfectly posed cat on my reference books, teaching me about the art of doing more with less.
