:: Artistic Anatomy and Great Masters of Modern Art ::
born between months she struggled to find a small space for her piece -and peace- of mind. all those years spent before a blank paper took their toll; what she understood to be a line could not be read nor spoken, not felt nor understood. but a line is a line and forever it will remain as such; it will stand there, imprinted in her white skin curling and straightening in unison with her breathing. she thought it would all be lost once she had found a way to make ends meet, to keep to herself what was meant to herself; that, in the end, the desired balance would make her definitive quality perish. but that need not be so.
i've always thought that drawing is a means of living without thinking, that pure shape and form and texture and light and shadow and absolute darkness are a most encouraging combination of absentminded tools to keep breathing and stop stopping at the mere sight of a contradiction. distancing myself from many people i know, i believe and will probably keep doing so for some time, that in paper not all is possible. a blank piece of paper is not absolute potentiality, every thread of cellulose carries with it a path that will have to be taken by the graphite; in a sense, every sheet carries with it it's own drawing, it's own lines. and so, every time i sit in front of that pure white almost mystic plane, i surrender to the power of it will and strength, that drains whatever residue of mind i may have and submits me to it's eternal flowing and yet static nature. i am the least free while drawing, the least me and yet all there can be of me. how can anyone endure such a struggle between herself and her necessary lack of freedom without perishing in the process? i don't love drawing, perhaps i don't even like it, but oh how i need it. it is as though i was bound to each strand of the paper, to each line of graphite, to each smudge and stain. and because i need it so i will no longer refuse it, i will no longer fight it. i'm as scared as i ever was, i have not the training nor the habit, but i refuse to let go of this.
coming in through my ears::news on television