A friend asked the other day, after I had posted a photo of my latest drawing on Instagram “What’s it for?” I knew what she meant, as I had mentioned submission dates. But instead of answering that, I chose to go for the gag and answered “It’s a drawing!” Yeah I know, daft.
But the answer really isn’t that easy is it? Yes, of course it’s a drawing. And it’s not “for” anything. It has no practical purpose. But why after all these years do I still find myself struggling to justify my primary occupation? It’s a drawing. I did it because I like drawing and felt compelled to do it. I have ideas about them, of course but not all of those ideas do I feel the need to make public. They have purpose for me. They are simultaneously stimulating and calming. I wrestle with composition, colour and texture… they have to work for me on an aesthetic level. They are like maps of ideas; stories about encounters; they are expressions of my trains of thought. They are also everything and nothing; personal and universal; they are huge and microscopic.
Over time, they change. I use different materials, the textures change, the marks morph over time, they pick up bits of reality as I go along, and absorb, abstract and reiterate.
But I don’t really know what they are for. They are drawings. The process of making it isn’t quite everything, because I am concerned with the aesthetics… but it is a lot.
