Pencil to the paper. Stroke, line, smudge. Shapes taking form and while shadows and light fill in the void. Energy abounded as her hand clenched and relaxed, framed the curves, texture and form flowing from her mind. I watch her face as images form. There’s serenity, then frustration. Here eyes are bright and cheeks flushed, lips swollen as she bites down and furrows her brow. Flashes of joy, peace, passion and energy radiate.
There are hundreds of drawings around the room and as I flip through, each one takes me to another place in time. Young children playing on a day full of expectations and wonder. Serene landscapes of a barren winter. Russet and gold bouncing off a porcelin blue lake. All these drawings, capturing moments, glimpses, opportunities.
What will this next drawing show? What is it capturing? What is the image in her head. Is the moment in time meant to show what is, or what could be? Is it the start of a journey or the finale? Will it inspire action or reflection?
The pencil is moving slower now. Swooshes and jabs. Reflective. Concentrating. A final flick of the wrist and a floursh. She turns and smiles. A smile that is at once welcoming and exhaustive. Her flushed cheeks are slowly draining, her eyes reflecting a calm relief. For a moment she is still, then stands up, and lithely smoothes her hand through her hair, shakes her head and reaches for the table.
My thoughts on whatever passes through my line of sight.
No comments:
Post a Comment