Lately I've been pouring over almost two years of
drawings: sketchbooks (the bigger ones that live in my studio and the
smaller ones that live in my purse), finished drawings with
tracing paper over them so they don't get dirty, and the forty or so that are
half-way there. Rarely do I make a drawing and say "Aha! I'm going to
make a painting of THIS." I use them to pull elements from - marks,
patterns, compositions, etc. They are my guide.
Looking at this particular period of
drawing I realize how much I think about about piles and how certain piles comfort me. I enjoy assembling them as much as disassembling them. No two are the same. Piles are a part of daily life and ritual, and I need rituals
like folding laundry and stacking kindling.
And I need to draw and paint them too.
