One Hundred and Sixty One

I felt you, today.

I've missed drawing so much lately. It started in the summer, I'd missed the quiet, simple challenge of curves and lines and shades. Every body is similar, there is nothing surprising, and yet there is, to the trained, cautious, patient eye, every body is remarkable and distinct, every twist of skin and curve and fold, everything is new yet familiar yet pliable. I remember when the models would move, but so subtly, just to stretch themselves, and nothing changed in my perspective. How trained they were, to understand the human body so well. It's so different from writing. But you knew that. You knew that it's so different, such a different grip on a pen, to charcoal. Precise strokes, is all they are. Imitations of life. Some closer than others.

I felt you, today, right beside me at times. "Don't forget," you said in my ear, as I made the same mistake I always do with the neck. I was very rusty, I kept messing up the waist, and I couldn't get the right breast right. But you reached out and stilled my frustrated hand and told me to move on, continue with the fabric, don't get so bogged down in what you can't do. I shaded just as well as I always do, kept my wrist loose and fingers tight. "Looser," you said to me, when I was doing the forearm. By the fourth time I'd erased the neck I wanted to give up completely, but you gripped my hand over my pencil and told me I was doing the best I could. No one's judging.

It isn't the best, the finished product, I still have a long way to go. But I always did, I was never the best. But that's not the point, is it. That's not really the point of drawing the human figure, to be the best. Only to try your best. And when it was done, I held it from arm's length and you put your hand on my shoulder and said, "It's a good one. Keep working at it." The head isn't as tilted as it should be, and I gave up on the left thigh.

Keep working at it, you always said. Nothing's ever finished. Maybe writing is, some written pieces, there's a finish line, when you can't add more. But there's always work to be done on the human figure. You are not the one to feel when it's done. You are not the one to show this invisible faith in yourself, or to ask someone to lend you the authority to say Yes. Yes, this is beautiful. And done.

It isn't. You're never done with the human figure, not really. You have to be patient, precise, understanding. And most importantly of all, take all the time you need.