Memory is odd. Can you draw a memory? I can put it somehow into words, but to put it down in a visual picture is harder. I’m not sure what happens when it is sifted through my mind and down into my hand, but it’s a different language.
The artist I speak of in this flyer has paintings all over her home based on domestic scenes she tried to create from memory. Some of them are impressive, considering the number of objects. She seemed to intimate that your memory isn’t that good, that in truth, when you go to paint it, put it down in a visual sense, it’s pretty flawed. I wouldn’t say that it is flawed, but that it is selective. I can draw from photographs, and often do, but drawing from memory is like making pencil rubbings. My subject emerges through a dark sive. The drawing I’ve done of Recee here isn’t her photograph, but an emotional imprint. It isn’t exactly as I remember her, but it’s an idea of what I remember.
This process of images is facinating to me. I never know what my mind will come up with next. Just when I thought I knew all my stories and all my old tricks about the world, I try to draw a picture of a girl I knew when I was 8, and I’m taken by surprise. The world is new again.
I will post again on Tuesday. Have a great weekend everyone.