The iron smell of ink.

A silky black.

The fine tip of the brush lifts a full drop.

Holding it 'til it slips to thick paper.

A tumble through air, the drop turns and turns, giving the page a bold blot.

A dab of water and with the wash the black runs to grey.

The artist teases out her features.

Marking out key points on the paper.

He slowly builds a nose, eyes and a mouth.

It isn't his best picture.

But to watch him work is a silent pleasure.