One of the paradoxes of making pictures is that lines are frequently used to show things that consist of surfaces and differently shaded volumes of space. But lines only truly exist in Flatland. So a line has a special existence: it's an object that exists and does not exist. It exists to tell a story about a living soul's perception of one small sliver of Life.
At any moment, unpredictably, my line could become a written series of words in a sentence describing what I am seeing. If we could magnify this line we might see that it loops and swerves, fractal-like describing the coastline of existence utterly unique in its mellifluous meanderings and mutterings
To draw Life is to live --in a strange way. At least, that is how it feels. No more and certainly no less.
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| Balustrade ink, chalk 03/12/16 |
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| Wires charcoal 03/12/16 |
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| Balustrade colored pencil 03/14/16 |
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| Reflections ink, charcoal 03/23/16 |
