Finding a figurine

Today I found an old sketchbook in one of the ‘clean up’ storage boxes in my studio, a small sized one, not measuring over ten by fourteen centimeters (four by say five inches), I guess. Stretching my hand I can cover the pages easily, the shadow hovering over the images. The one image that made me feel better than I have felt in a long time was a drawing (graphite pencil) of a fetus. Not that I have ever seen one for real, nor do I possess a model by which I mean one made of plaster or clay. (Just to be clear!)
Why did this tiny sketch give me a different kick start feeling than any note or sketch has done since quite a while? I don’t know. The feeling inside, the thoughts that are generated in my head, the words that flow out of the keys on this board at this very moment, all seem to share a lightness that corresponds with my current mental state. Or mood to use a milder sounding word.

The fetus, or shall I say, the small figure or, to use the following word incorrectly, figurine (meaning something made out of plaster or clay, and not denotating a figure made out of graphite and paper) is curled up as fetuses usually are when they are depicted, modeled after their primary state, in possession of the lack of any other mobile quality than floating around. A little. Looking closer at the fig. I discover the indication of shoes, the ones that ballet dancers wear. Why I put them there I don’t remember.