Thoughts on life drawing

At the beginning, it felt like I was not supposed to be there, but I ignored that feeling. I played invisible and stole glances at other people. It felt like seeing things for the first time. Noting puffiness, smoothness, shapes, lines that had been hiding in plain sight from me. It always feels like leaving everything behind, letting everything flow out of me. I feel no guilt for not trying to bring back my thoughts, and other people’s thoughts inside my head. Sometimes I cry, letting some dust of disappointment, longing or pain find a way to sweep out, brown and thin, from under the carpet. I feel abandoned for a very short, dense bit of time. I feel free and committed at the same time during those 3–5 minutes when I have one mark to make. And it doesn’t matter what that mark is; that mark is all that matters. Other marks may hide it or build on it. Either is fine. I feel excited, sometimes overwhelmed, about the possibilities. And for once I feel curious about my limits – that might just be the secret ingredient to 'my style.' It’s the thing that keeps changing, faster than I thought it was possible, faster than I even notice. I feel like I’m discovering the story and beauty of a body: how we are, what we look on the outside. Perhaps we need to put others on a pedestal to see that. I feel like my own body makes more sense to me now. It’s no longer something I fight, use and hide. Maybe one day I should put myself on a pedestal and learn about my visible secrets like I’m learning those of others. I feel comforted and exhilarated that I found life drawing – that it awaits me as a ride into discovery, discontent, detachment, digression. When I draw, I just get going, without questions or expectations about the destination. I’ll be curious about the destination, eventually. Also curious to hear what others make of it. But that’s later. Elisa Morgera, by email