Standing in the Shadows of love.
The last few weeks I have been in a limbo-like state as recently, while returning from fishing, my husband turned his ankle and fell. The ensuing damage was extensive and he needs several weeks in a cast, with no weight put the leg at all. Not having so much time for my work has increased the desire to do it and at and at the same time helped me face up to the fact that I was hanging on to a piece of pretty weak work. It is an intervention to a sack, and has been hanging about in corners making me feel guilty for too long. I am going to burn it in the hope that fire will destroy and purify at the same time.
And so for the interim I have only short bits of time and the obvious thing to do was draw as this does not have the gravitas of “real” work. However I have only recently returned to drawing after a long absence and am still not back to a regular habit. I decided to use husband as a model as he couldn’t escape. I toiled for four hours on a “serious” drawing of him and made us both miserable. I still can’t look at this drawing without feeling physically sick.
No one could understand what I was so unhappy about as they judged it a good likeness. This made me think about lots of other artists who have driven themselves and close family and friends potty in the pursuit of betterment. The thing was, I was trying too hard to be better, to improve etc, instead of finding something to say.
The next evening the thought of trying to draw Peter’s head again gave me a nervous tic so I drew his great big blue foot instead and as I was drawing, his head (made small by perspective) crept into my peripheral vision and so I was able to come at it sideways, by stealth. Bingo. I have called the drawing Bigfoot and am able to look at it without my usual drawing dysmorphia.
