When I am not stringing or wire wrapping gemstones and beads together, I draw. Faces mostly, sometimes a lone flower
Or little pieces that show signs of life in an otherwise empty space
Faces number the most though. Some of them are faces of real people I have seen and they stare back at me as if to remind me that they live.
In some, one face stands for many people, the eyes of that one face reflecting all at once their collective pain, the unsure smile telling me that they all hope for something better.
Some of these faces come from dreams and, as with such images, these are quite surreal and have a rather strange edge to them. Usually imprecise, their features a little tentative, sometimes mixed up and exaggerated. Snippets of form snatched from deep sleep just before full wakefulness takes over.
Others are drawn from something I've felt - a picture that tells a story of me, as the face will tell you, if you will listen closely, what went on inside as I put pencil to paper.
I do not know yet what it is that makes drawing faces so satisfying for me. I can lose myself for hours trying to capture just that one expression, that tiny tilt of the head, the fold of a brow. It may be that I am unconsciously looking for my own and that in drawing them over and over again, I will come to see who it is that really stares out from the other side of the mirror when I look at it in the morning.