Blind Contour Drawing Examples Novels & Stories

I once believed meeting Charles was the final ray of comfort in my life. A sightless man and a terminally ill woman, leaning on each other to find warmth in the dark. I gave up chemotherapy, pushing through cancer pain to work, all just to leave behind every cent I had for my "blind" boyfriend and our unborn baby. I even signed an organ donor form, hoping that after my death, my eyes could finally bring him light. That belief shattered when I saw a photo in the hospital director's office. There he was, surfing under the bright sun. His eyes shone, with an arm wrapped around an heiress dripping in multi-million-dollar jewels. It turns out our whole love story was nothing more than a rich

Where that spot was, it was somewhat a sickly shade of the bright colour. "What did it mean?' I asked no one but myself. Zoe wasn't back yet so I was all alone on this piece. Placing all 15 pages side by side I noticed the spaces in the blind spots drew lines. In some pages, a dot and in the others, I saw lines that were either single or the ones that seemed to snake onto the next piece of paper. "Holy..what does all this mean!?"

Just unmarked leather and the weight of secrets waiting to be discovered. I opened it carefully, mindful of pages that looked fragile enough to crumble at a touch. The first page made me gasp aloud. Ink drawings filled the yellowed paper—not the crude sketches of an amateur, but artwork of remarkable skill and disturbing beauty. A wolf, massive and powerful, its eyes rendered in such detail I could swear they were watching me from the page. And beside it, a woman in flowing robes, her hand extended toward the beast as if in offering or benediction.

I didn’t remember drawing it at all. “Wow, that’s dark,” she said. “But the beauty in it is so overwhelming. What inspired you to draw that?” I shook my head. “I wish I knew,” I replied. “I just let my mind take the lead on it and I guess it’s darker than even I knew.” The drawing was of a faceless boy with shadows surrounding him as they pulled him in all directions while he covered his face. His body was covered in writing but I couldn’t make out what the writing was exactly.

And the first thing that caught my eye? The drawings. The first one was dark. Black scribbles, angry strokes all across the canvas like someone tried to scratch their pain into it. In the middle, a small girl drawn in thin red lines stood alone, facing a locked door. She had no eyes. Just emptiness on her face. The second was a mess of words, written over each other—"HELP," "ENOUGH," "WHY," "PLEASE"—scattered across a shape of a woman curled up, her back to the world.

Her hand moved sporadically, rubbing against the lead of the pencil on the page until…it stopped. She set her pencil down beside her book and it rolled back and forth until it settled in its chosen position. Waverly's gaze was stuck on the drawing she had just completed and casually picked it up by the edges, bringing it to the forefront of her sight. It was unlike anything she had ever drawn. The marks were unplanned and rushed, but in a structured manner. In some places, continuous lines created distinct features and the areas where her hand had smudged the outline generated a smoky grey, providing the art with a unique depth that she would never be able to replicate.

She sat down on the chair and began to look at them. She felt her skin crawl as she looked at the drawings. They were of the same man. Tall. Thin. Faceless. With tentacles. But now they were not alone, on the sides were written letters. On one alone they said many NO. NO. NO. And on another was a sentence written: Don't look out the window.

"It's missing both ears." I watch as he picks up the stick this time and makes on the sand, two medium sized 'c's on both sides of the drawing. We both tilt our heads to the left at the same time and stare at the drawing on the sand. One of the eyes are way bigger than the other and the nose seems to be falling out of proportion, the shape of the head looks like that of an amoeba while the ears he just drew isn't fully connected to the face. "I think it's phenomenal," He says.

I’d hardly taken any notes today, in fact, but as I’d been thinking, I’d been drawing mindlessly, too. Scrawled on my page in smudged black biro was my own face. I’d barely registered drawing it. It was cartoony, with lips that were even bigger than my real ones, and doe eyes that were looking up at nothing. My lashes were long, casting spider-leg shadows down my cheeks. One side of my face was dark, and the other was shining in the light. I scribbled over it, forcing my pen so firmly into the paper that it began to tear. My vision became blurred as I dragged the pen through the notepad, and then I jumped when a hand was laid on my arm.

“Alright, right now we are just going to do some meditation. We need you to be able to clear your mind and focus on what’s inside of you and around you without your sight. Eventually, you need to be able to call on those things with your eyes open too. I brought a blindfold just in case.” I sigh and nod my head. “Okay, is there anything I need to try to focus on while meditating?” She tilts her head and considers my question. “Right now, let’s just meditate and I’ll guide it. As we go, I’ll try to direct you to certain places within yourself. Let’s see what you can tap into and what you feel. For now, we are mostly just relaxing and working on your focus and how you sense what’s inside.” I n