Art
gives me another way of knowing, of listening to the shapes I see in
front of me. I'm sitting in the Natural History Museum, holding a
sanguine pencil, waiting for the language of zebra to move me, move my
hand, take me to a blissful oasis where my eye and mind become so
integrated that the separation between myself, my pencil, and the zebra
disappears.
I follow the intricate flow of black and white markings, not just
the surface lines and tones, but the powerful form of the horse
underneath, and feel as if I am dancing for pure joy. No effort, no
thought, simply the underlying logic of form pouring onto the page.
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