Sunday, 1 June
 |
| B u s |
Good Morning
Jacob…
I never
learned how to draw so my struggles with it contributed largely to my
style. Accidents and missteps were all
part of the picture. There wasn’t much
to see that depicted a plan. I enjoyed
drawing because images from life were only the starting point. Drawing for me was a refuge. I wasn’t looking for a discipline. My picture world was about assembling
geometric shapes. I could do rough
squares, circles and triangles. Then I
gave them features suggesting something like a face or maybe a tire. It was the pleasure of exploring trifles. It was fun.
Everything
one draws starts with an emotion. The
quality of a line reveals one’s state of mind as their hand delivers color to
paper. The thought behind a cleanly
etched thin line is nothing like the impulse that strokes something rough,
thick and textured. The same holds true
with one’s choice in colors. Some colors
provide resting points while others stridently demand your attention. Drawing that mirrors one’s interior world is
like penning music to the page. Reason is
lost to all those rhythms and blues.
Art of any
description settles into the complexity of one’s own feeling. Emotions can be powerful and nuanced,
together. It is an expression not fully
described. You can’t spell it out for
me. I am moved by something that has no
obvious source. It isn’t the tumult of
specific everyday experience. I am for
the moment filled with an appreciation that may have forever eluded me save for
a sense captured in the gesture of another.
I’ve somehow briefly become simply more than myself. Art involves a resonance from one to another
of something beyond direct human fathom.
It dallies with the curious mystery that is beauty.
My words are
useless. It’s just better to draw.
Love,
Dad
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