My charcoal is real vine cooked into a blackened stick. The materials of drawing are physical and dirty. No judgment of the body. The unprotected body is natural and bears no indicators of class, social and political identity that clothing and jewelry and shoes and bags broadcast. Creases lines bulges curves shadows arcs. Its language is skin and muscle and bone and nail and cartilage. Now his chest curves in on itself, the belly squeezed into a Y. Now I see the light coming on his shoulders; his eyes are open. The charcoal lines can be smeared, dark and sharp, or misty, foggy. Here's a drawing from yesterday:
Someone tells me not to try and make my drawing resemble what I’m looking at. I want to do this with my writing. The inspiring and lively artist Kyle Staver presented a slideshow of her paintings two nights ago and showed many different forms in which she experimented with the same subject: aquatint, plaster sculpture, linoleum print, oil painting. How would a writer explore a subject with the same diversity of perspectives? Maybe a drawing, a sonnet, free verse, journaling, expanded, shortened and contained within other forms.
Below is one of Staver's paintings of the myth of Andromeda and Pegasus. More on Staver in my next post!