Note to readers: I am the guilty party–I inflicted abuse on a poor defenseless classic black Zentangle® tile. I am ashamed and remorseful, but the fact exists–I mistreated my precious tile. Below is a reconstruction of the original tangle on this poor tile’s surface.
I started out right. I gave thanks and appreciation for my time and the quality of the materials before me, to the comfortable tangling space, for the opportunity to create something beautiful. However, all this took place under the influence of a little pill meant to help me sleep. That is no excuse for the behavior my tile will explain. But it was a circumstance, one which even led to my dating the original work as June 26, 1921! I can’t even explain where that date came from, or how I could have believed I was creating magic with my tile. But that’s the start of this tale. Only she–my abused tile–can tell the actual non-drug-influenced story.
Good evening, readers. My name isn’t important, but you can call me Glitter, as that’s the name I chose once DrEllie fixed me. But let me start at the beginning.
Ellie is an insomniac. Most nights she fits in a couple of hours of sleep, but sometimes she is awake for 48 hours or more straight. Most prescription sleep aids cause sleep walking. She has already fallen down the steps twice, so she refuses to take them. Instead, her doctor prescribed a tranquilizer that she can take at bedtime–but only half a pill. Those things are wicked! Last night, the half pill was not working, even as she partially tangled tiles to send to friends who sent her some before. She already felt badly about being so far behind. Unfortunately, even the tangling, along with the sleeping dose, were not helping her get sleepy. After a few hours, she decided to take the other half pill.
Over the next hour or so, I watched as her drawing deteriorated across half a dozen tiles. Crooked lines that didn’t meet, circles that looked like–well, not circles at all. Finally, she picked me up–the first black tile of the bunch. And then she picked up the white gel pen. And I felt her drawing all over me–a sort of curved frame, some “curved” lines in the corners that resembled squiggles more than lines, the worst mooka I’ve seen her draw since she was first learning it–this one looked like a misshapen Meerschaum pipe!–and some really off-base fescue that looked like squiggly blobs with jagged stems. I begged her to stop–that she was destroying my beauty and anything akin to balanced composition. All she did was scowl at me and keep drawing.
Suddenly, she lifted her pen and dropped it on the drawing board. The pen rolled off the surface and out of sight. “I need to cap my pen!” she told the dog who sleepily lifted his head, regarding her through barely open eyes. He was tired, too. He was only there to keep her company. Ellie almost fell off her chair to search for the pen. She began crawling around on hands and knees in her search. And she barely kept herself from toppling over more than once. At least twice, she asked the dog what she was looking for. The dog had fallen asleep again and didn’t answer. Finally, she found the white gel pen (hard to do on white tile flooring with only overhead lights to help see). It took her a while to stand up again, using the chair and table top for support. I watched her sway back and forth as she tried to remember what she needed to do next. “The cap,” she finally whispered.
The cap was easy enough to find. It was right next to me, on a clean black tile she hadn’t used yet. I guess the tile was patiently awaiting its turn. After three tries, Ellie finally clicked the pen closed and very carefully set it on top of me. Still standing and swaying, she murmured to no one in particular, “I think the meds have kicked in.” I watched as she made a drunkard’s path to the staircase leading to her bedroom. I held my breath as she navigated the steps. The dog, who follows her everywhere and normally pushes past her up the stairs, quietly sat waiting until she reached the bedroom door and turned out the hall light. Then he zipped up after her.
It’s me again–Ellie. I don’t remember climbing into bed, but that’s where I was when I overslept this morning. Ten-thirty! Where had the time gone?
After throwing on some clothes, I made my way downstairs. I made a cup of coffee, and wandered over to my tangling area. I vaguely remembered working on a group of tiles, but it took a few minutes to remember that I was creating some traveling tile project pieces to get in the mail. I saw Glitter–nowhere near resembling her new name–sitting in my active drawing area. Then I saw the pile of started tiles. Setting the coffee mug down, I examined each tile. The first two were awful, but there was improvement as I got deeper into the short stack. I must have tangled the lower ones first, placing each next tile on top as I finished it. I cringed at the higher tiles–a two-year-old would have produced better results.
Next, I picked up Glitter, and tears began rolling down my face. She was utterly disfigured–and I knew I had done this to her. Only the original border lines were passable. Through my tears, I heard, “You can fix me! There are no mistakes in Zentangle!” I stared at her.
“How?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“I’m a black tile, right?” I nodded. “You have a whole assortment of black Micron® pens with lots of nib widths, right? Even a black Micron brush pen?” Again I nodded. “Well, sit down and make me something special–something that will help you remember never again to tangle after taking pills.”
Smiling now, I dug out not only my standard supplies, but also my Gelly Roll metalic and Stardust pens. For good measure, I also pulled out my Souffle pens, just in case. Good thing, because I couldn’t find my gray brush pen, and the black Soufflé dries beautifully gray.
It’s Glitter again. I’ll finish the story.
The first thing Ellie did was take out her Micron 08. Where she could, she smoothed out curves, redefined lines, fixed up dangly end where lines met and then some. It sort of tickled, but it also hurt a little. Next, she obliterated groups of lines that were supposed to be parallel but–well, let’s say they were lines that went in interesting directions, with some even crossing multiple others. That was really painful–like being deliberately abraided! Somehow, she managed to save and refine the mooka and fixed the fescue. Then she fixed up the crescent moons she had in some interesting corners, redefined some, and used blue gel ink to sort of shade them. None of that hurt as much as the abraiding feel, but it was still uncomfortable. Sitting back, she looked at all the white that disappeared under the black pen. And she stared and stared.
Finally, she picked up the white gel pen again and redrew those curved parallel lines she obliterated earlier. She looked at the variety of Sakura® gels pens she took out earlier, and I saw her smile.
First came a small Way Bop, filled in with flat and metallic pens. Then she fixed the corners with the parallel curves, Eni Oken style (or as close as she could get to that). She used that black Soufflé pen for the gray marker area, and added the “sparkle” to the curved areas with white Gellies. With the Stardust pens, she added glittery effects where areas seemed to need very subtle sparkle. Finally, she redefined lines and curves where they needed some clarity, and sat back. “What do you think?” she asked me. “Are you happy with your new look?”
My tile spirit floated to her shoulder and looked down. “Not bad,” I said. “Not bad at all!” I floated back into myself. “You know,” I told her. “You were really rough on my surface when you scrubbed away those awful white lines. I think I have all sorts of thinner spots, and you changed the texture of my surface in a lot of places. I should report you to the tile protection league, but you really came through. I really love my new look!”
“So, Glitter,” I said. ” I want to formally apologize for abraiding you and hurting you as I redefined lines. I am so sorry for any irreparable destruction I caused to your fragile tooth–that’s surface texture, if you’re wondering if I should send you to a dentist. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but there was no other way to restore your lovely surface. And you have to admit, this design is far nicer than those crazy white lines I drew all over you.”
“This new look suits me,” Glitter replied. I really like the colors–spots of gold, even!–and I feel sparkly and shiny!” Glitter paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Just promise me something.”
“Anything,” I reply.
“Never ever tangle when you’re taking those meds again. I don’t want any friends going through the same experience. Promise me that, and you are forgiven forever.”
“Not a problem, Glitter,” I replied. “I promise. I’ve learned my lesson. Not a problem at all.”
Until next time, Happy Tangling!