She sits, hunched over a desk overflowing with brushes, pencils and pens, sketching a figure onto a piece of paper that stretches across the table end-to-end.
“I got ink on my fingers” she mumbles under her breath along with profanities.
Catt Weglicki “wanted to be an animator to create the characters in movies and books,” causing her to pick up a brush at age 10.
She secures the sketch to her door of her bedroom with tape before dipping her brush into a pot of ink.
The space, her studio, is littered with assignments and inspirations.
Skeletons on canvases are mounted on easels and bottles wait to be made into sculptures.
The stems of roses poke out between the pages of a biography about Van Gogh in preparation for a project.
Weglicki turns up the music she is playing from the speakers of her laptop.
“I can’t focus when it’s quiet in here,” Weglicki says.
As she traces her figure, the room is filled with the sounds of instruments and brush strokes.
She gracefully sways from paper to pot, performing a waltz across the floor of the room for her spectators, a cat and her brother, Mickey, watching from the doorframe.
“They’re my harshest critics,” she laughs, almost dropping her brush onto the canvases and notebook beneath her.
Weglicki’s furry spectators, Sylvia and Mickey, stare from the doorframe of the kitchen while she works in her studio.
Frustrated with the sketch of the body on the door, she walks to the kitchen and fills a glass with Jameson and Coke.
Back in the studio, she faces her work and begins again. This time she doesn’t follow the lines.
With an ounce and a half of liquid courage, she starts to create art without direction or plans.