I don't know for how long I will continue this oil pastel series. I very much enjoy making it. Often in drawing process with oil pastel time stops.
Not every time, I won't lie. But it's precious, meaningful so much to be grateful to this technique. Something happens and I am finally able to immerse into complete Me, into a dialog with my reflection on paper. You know, artists always create themselves, whose ever portrait it is. These drawings are something opposite to soft pastel sketches from life models. The beauty of those contained is lack of time. Those are technical. Drawing those in NY at the Lesley Lohmann Studio, we had twenty minutes, or even ten. When draftsman's mind is caged in those time frames it begins to crystalize the most important, trying to express abundance in some perfectly minimal way. Abundance of decisions. Just to mark them as crossroads, choosing one way, and never stepping on tenths of others. It's literally what artists learn in school. Of course it's only drawing, not in life. It never would be enough any time in life for me. And when the pose is over, whatever I was making I wouldn't want to work on that drawing after. It won't be fresh in those categories, fresh as reality, fresh as truth. Maybe just a couple of strokes, nothing more. It is some special feeling to document life. It's another way to stop the time. Otherwise it won't feel honest. Here is honesty of another level and I have all my hours, days. I am still marveled myself how I step into those measured lines, like into Narnia. Something similar to yoga. There are only you and your breathing. Here - only you and strokes.
Recently I realized that all my art is... not about what you see on the surface. It is about Time. And now I'm, evidently, going to blog about time. Sorry, if you're still here, reading this verbal salad. What I don't like about (my) blogging - everything written usually turns into banalities. No matter how profound it feels. Especially, I would say. Ugh! I don't remember who said that "Time is God". If so, then I suppose, the Theory of Color its Song of Songs. Back to the oil pastel, men and flowers: The biggest task with that - to stop in time and begin the next work. To let it be unfinished enough to be fresh (like truth), breathing, alive. But often I'm too selfish. It is some sort of artistic pettiness - not letting a drawing to go, attaching to it longer that anything good can happen. Ouch! I can loose count of days over some drawings just for the sake of process.
