I am inspired to attempt to draw my own face. Looking at a photo of myself, I tried so hard to draw without looking at the page. I mostly succeeded, but was so tempted to look, as I was wondering if my image actually looked like me.
In Kathryn’s class today we explored embodied poetry. The memory I chose to
The face in my sketchpad
I liked drawing faces
Very two dimensionsal and childlike
I was…maybe 10
Short blonde hair, big brown eyes
I told my parents I wanted to be an artist
They praised my drawings
and then my dad cracked a joke about artists
not being able to get a job
He didn’t mean to impact me
It was just a joke
He would never do that to me willingly
But that was the last sketchpad I ever had
I chose to have my daughter in the last image I drew because she is in the photo with me. (re)construct….what will I say to her, when she tells me what she wants to be?