Sunday, 18 October 2009

If I Drew It I'd Have To Do It

I don’t draw anymore. The thought of putting pen to paper frightens me to death. I never drew from real-life; I’ve always drawn from my imagination (mental, rather than retinal images). For a long time I had this thing (illness?) where, “what ever I drew I had to go out and do”. Or to put it another way: “if drawn, it had to be born”. Or even, “once drafted, it has to be acted”. Whatever way you look at it, I had to live my lines (put my life on the line?). Consider my drawing of "An elbow in an eye-bath". 
This wasn’t so bad to do. I could perform the manoeuvre in the privacy of my own bathroom with my own elbow. The eye-bath contained Friars Balsam - I can’t remember why.

Certain sketches however, became so obsessively repetitive that I had to bring them to life to save myself (from incessantly doodling them). I was a martyr to my own drawings. Here, I pictured myself as some kind of saint (or angel), The Patron Saint of Hitchhikers’?

To get these drawings born I had to steal a gymnastic ring from a Leisure Centre (I hung from one ring whilst I unhooked the other). You’ll notice that I’ve got wings in the drawing; I couldn’t find any, so I filled the side-pockets of my rucksack to double as wings.

I had to persuade a real hitchhiker, a random stranger, to hide behind me and hold my halo in position whilst I posed for this self-timer photograph

Even after all of that I wasn’t satisfied. When I blew the photograph up I noticed a bit of my halo-holder’s eye and hair (just above my left shoulder). This photograph was made in the days before digital, prior to Photoshop. An eye-bath of Friars Balsam might have bleached out his irritating eye.

Occasionally (and this still happens) I’d feel the need to act out a drawing I hadn't made, but one I’d found. I was pulled to this drawing by the duel, yet paradoxical body language of the gentleman-gymnast. He seemed to manifest a basic contradiction; qualities of power and camp; he’s strong-armed on the one hand, yet limp-wristed on the other.

As neither of my arms is camp-trained (nothing to do with training camps), I found it impossible to pull-up with one hand on my hip.
I sported a bra for this 'compensation portrait'. It's all about achieving the right balance. I'm wearing an Eccles cake in each cup, of course.

No comments:

Post a Comment