Sunday, September 25, 2005

morning warmups

It was one of those beautiful mornings. In order to warm my hands and gently set about moving I reached for my sketchbook and pencils set by the bed. Often sketching is the last thing I do at night and the first thing I do in the morning. I was having a bit of a problem coming up with ideas for "what to draw". Staring out the window, the pencil did it's work for me. I stopped thinking and ran with what the pencil wanted and the next and the next. Soon enough the drawing was complete and I found myself working on another.

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I was transported to a moment many years ago, walking with my little daughter, about the same age as my grand daughter is now. Private moments on a moist Toronto autumn day so long ago. My hands kept changing pencils and hungrily moved on to another drawing .

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The three trees I passed as a child on Sunday walks with my parents. The trees were set exactly at the edge of the dijke.

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Old trees, most probably they had been there when Rembrandt walked that stretch in his lifetime. That thought was too daunting, still, as long as I don't compare, leaving Rembrandt out of it.


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