Every Saturday, once my wife and I have a moment to sit after breakfast, I have a little ritual. I go to the Sierra Club weekly calendar I bought for my mother (which she didn't end up needing, so it promptly became mine) and turn the leaf over to reveal the next photograph, which will define the following week. As I write this, it's an image of the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument in Arizona by photographer Rex Naden. A personal goal of mine would be to one day contribute to this amazing collection with the likes of Mr. Naden.
Turning the pages over on the calendar brings me great peace. It's my way of acknowledging time passing, and giving in to the anticipation of what's to come, rather than dread what's ahead. A sort of star to light up the dark unknown of the future.
When I was a kid I would draw incessantly. I mention this in my bio on this website as the background to my understanding of light and composition. And it's true. But, at the time, that wasn't the goal. I was bad at being social with kids outside of school; I didn't feel up to the task of parties and normal adolescent adventures. Sketching was an escape for me. I would tune in to my handheld CD player, sit down at the dining room table and just draw. I got quite good at replicating things with pencils.
Overtime, I eventually stopped drawing; music began to be my outlet to get me out of the house. I felt like I had outgrown it. The ritual no longer was needed to keep me safe. The hobby faded away.
Then, a few weeks ago, I kept seeing a beautiful and unique looking bird on our porch--a purple finch. I picked up my journal, originally used just to jot down important names and dates, and decided to sketch it using a black pen that was on our coffee table. By the end of the sketch I was pleasantly surprised. It looked like a bird. My wife looked on, charmed by the entire thing, and promptly ordered me a set of micro pens, which came in the mail to my surprise a few days later. "It's what all the artists on instagram use." I took the hint and tried my hand at a few more.
What you're seeing in this post are the drawings I've done in the last month or so, including that first finch. In drawing, I realize the urgency to FINISH, to have a product done hasn't gone away--the pure adrenaline of having something to show for my efforts. But now, as an adult, I find it a meditative training to give in to the process--if a drawing is done in one night it might be good. But, how much better might it be after three?
Maybe it is an escape, or yet another ritual, but I find in revisiting drawing, it is now something even more. It's an acceptance of time, a reminder that I can create my own stars to light up the future.
