Later now, I'm stuck in the studio working on an illustration job. The door is closed to keep the playful cats out. It's cold and raw outside. The radio is on to local news. They're all talking about Kennedy. I have childhood memories of that day: it was cold and clear in the Chicago suburbs and there was this new thing between me and my perception of the world: the president has been shot. In the following days on a small television set the indelible images of the main aisle of a cathedral and horses drawing a hearse through the streets. The memories are dusty, desaturated and potent. It makes me think of memory as a growing land we pass by every day. Somedays a gate is open and we can go inside. But I'm too hungry in the present to make a meal of my memories yet. Soon…
Friday, November 22, 2013
Rainy Day
It's raining today but I found a few minutes to do a drawing of the dam after I drove my daughter to high school. I hadn't been to the river in a few days and I was feeling disconnected. As soon as I stepped out of the car, the drizzle started anew but I opened my sketchbook anyway. If you look closely, you can see faint spots and speckles in my drawing from the raindrops on the paper.
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