Sitting outside this morning drawing. Very hot and humid; saw grass rustling in the breeze off the water. Not stiff and arthritic like this. Graceful and gentle. Dappled sunlight on the sidewalk.I wonder where all this is headed... simple and small drawings that seem to take forever to make. The thought of going really large with them is way too big a thought.
But I'm contemplating making some big pictures with oil sticks in a similar way. Maybe even color... Yikes.
Right after I finish knitting some of that sawgrass into a shroud. ('Real live bleeding fingers,' as Lucinda Williams would say.)
I can feel myself becoming terse and cynical lately. Because the work doesn't come easily. Because I don't know what I'm doing...
No comments:
Post a Comment