Inspired by an amazing trip to Barcelona, and especially a tour around The Palau de la Música Catalana, designed by Lluís Domènech i Montaner in 1905-1908, this drawing came out as a belated celebration of St Jordi’s Day (23rd April), when women traditionally receive a rose as a symbol of love, passion and femininity.
When the white doors in your immaculate house start getting stained with charcoal and graphite, along with your knees, hands and even face – you start wondering, what’s going on?
And then you realize that something very important, but long forgotten, has suddenly popped up from the depth of your subconscious. It came from the childhood memories, and now it’s floating in the sea of your thoughts, disturbed only by sudden waves of passion…
Just about a month ago I got my hands on a little sketchbook and a box of graphite pencils. After two weeks of holiday, which somehow turned into a drawing boot camp, the sketchbook was full. I practiced 5-6 hours every day, drawing anything I could get my eyes or thoughts on. Nudes, asanas, spheres, cubes, cylinders, ribbons, skeletons, faces, body parts, eyes, lips and what not.
Upon my return to work, when asked what I did during my time off, I disappointed most of my colleagues. I didn’t travel; I barely went out and didn’t get any tan. But I knew how to draw a human body from a two-point perspective!
My supplies got topped up with a few solid sketchbooks, collection on inks, brush pens, charcoals and pencils; as well as books on drawing techniques and visual storytelling. The only thing left to do is to remember/learn how to use it all. Easy!
When I was young, I used to go to an art school and I was constantly doodling when bored. My teacher inspired me, and complemented my humble attempts to create something that’s mine. I took part in various drawing/painting competitions and even won a box of oil paints and a collection of pastels.
One day my teacher didn’t show up for a class. A few weeks later I was told that she was terminally ill and classes were cancelled.
My heart was broken and I decided to do dancing instead. That led to drama school, then international journalism and languages, then media studies…
I never really got back into art. Weather I was too impatient to do exciting things, or too lazy and inconsistent – the inner craving to observe things and express them with pencil and brush strokes just disappeared.
Whatever caused the sudden explosion of visual creativity, it doesn’t seem to go away. At least two hours of my every day, regardless of what shifts I am working, are devoted to practicing various techniques. I draw in bed, surrounded by coffee cups and pillows. I draw on the floor, in front of a mirror. I draw in the park, among pine trees, squirrels and elderly Jewish ladies.
Whatever comes out of this rediscovered passion – a couple of semi-talented sketches, a lifetime commitment or just a therapeutic hobby – every time I sit down to practice I find myself entering the state of catharsis. It’s a calm peaceful pleasure. The kind of pleasure you get from dipping your hand in a sack of grains. Or hugging a big hairy dog. Or sniffing an acacia shrub. Or falling asleep in a fortress made of pillows. The little pleasures we all knew when we were little.
Do we simply forget how to enjoy these things when we get older?..
Having now rediscovered the secret door to creative pleasure, I must not lose the key. Who knows what other doors it might open?
mariashu 