martin clark
pinko bodger
I am scared of the pencil.
I know that it is there, as is the surface.
Paper in every room, as well as drawing instruments.
I know where the charcoal is. And the hairspray to fix it.
But I forget, and do something else for months or years.
BUT, I know that it is there , literally, right at my fingertips.
My issue was, and still is (but subconsciously buried (not very well)) that my best mate has always been disturbingly good at drawing. Head in the wrong place.
edit: it gets on my pip
I really like this, it's as poetic as it is true. I get it.
I draw, every single day; its part of my process professionally to both process internal thinking, and to communicate - any medium on any surface, from ' graphs in the air ' to fineliner on a post-it to suggest a solution/ to get the multidimensional thing in my head out into the world for discussion* - and so, taken for granted, drawing is rarely a pursuit in itself these days ( a Thing I am looking to change; I love it.)
But - about drawing, about this most singular bit you write (beautifully! ) -
I know that it is there, as is the surface.
Paper in every room, as well as drawing instruments.
I know where the charcoal is.
The best advice I ever got as a boy was - make a bold first mark - doesn't matter what it is, but bold/extended: don't peck at a line in uncertain little chunks -Paper in every room, as well as drawing instruments.
I know where the charcoal is.
- It is about breaking that empty surface; the first hint, of something you can order a thought around
- All else follows, easily
*I've even 'Issued for Construction' the concise little sketch on a PostIt from time to time. the tiny canvas requires, enforces, clarity; the idea of a formal medium matters so much less.