I said, "I was listening to a Rick Steves Travel podcast in the car tonight, and he was interviewing this guy who wrote a book called 'Road Trip USA' and now I want to go on a road trip." "OK," she said. "You might have to wait a bit. We just got back from a trip, and we have company coming for Christmas." "Also," I said, "I was listening to a different episode this morning, and he was interviewing this Welsh archaeologist/historian who does tours in Wales. He was talking about castles and men's choirs and stuff. It was fascinating. I'd like to go to Wales, too." "OK," she said. "I want to travel a lot," I said. "Me, too," she said. "I don't see any reason why we can't travel every year our whole lives."
I went to a life drawing class last night. Not even a class, just a group that gets together once a week and hires a model. I haven't drawn from a figure in a setting like that in I don't even know how long. Years. Possibly since I was still in college. I've been feeling like I need to loosen up - work bigger, draw with my arm. Draw more at all. I was really nervous about going. I kind of know the guy who facilitates the session, but not well, and I've never been to a class at this location before. I had no idea what to expect, except I was pretty sure I was going to suck.
But you know? It all came back. Once the charcol was in my hand, my fingers remembered how to use it. My eyes remembered how to see the shapes. My arm rememberd how to follow the curves. My finger tips remembered how to smudge and blend. Ok, the first two quick sketches were kind of stiff, but by the third I'd hit my stride and I was getting lost in the shadows, the shape and form of muscles and bone. I love the way laying in shadows beside areas of blank paper makes the form on my page come alive. I love the play of value that creates form. I love the sinuous line of the body. I loved it. I want to go every week. I've missed this.
she says, leave me alone tonight i just wanna stay home she fills the pot with water and she drops in the bone she says, i've got a darkness that i have to feed i got a sadness that grows up around like a weed and i'm not hurting anyone i'm just spiraling in and then she closes her eyes and hears the song begin again - Ani DiFranco, "Jukebox"