Once I had the overall form taken care of (see "Reclining Woman I"), I began to look for relationships that were more implied than overt. Here, the geometry of light was what was speaking to me. In a few years, I would extend this idea in my Particle series. These two drawings were done on the same night, about ten minutes apart...
In the spring of 2003, I had been sneaking into alumni life drawing sessions at Virginia Commonwealth University for a few months. You know, I don't think that it was absolutely necessary to be an alumni from their art school, but then again, I never checked. Anyway, it's more fun to pretend like it was a clandestine operation... In this first drawing, I was trying to get a feel for the more "realistic" form of the model, the one easist to see...
Hirshorn Sculpture Garden, Henry Moore. I really like looking at sculpture that is kept outside; nature is the perfect context for contemplating ideas. I had written the words on some other day, but the page seemed right and ready for something else. A reclining woman in bronze, by Henry Moore, this sculpture possessed a poetic simplicity that was hard to resist. It was July, 2006, and the backdrop of green foliage and trees contrasted well with the immutable brown palette of the bronze. If you're interested, this sculpture is in the Hirshorn Sculpture Garden, one of the museums along the mall in Washington D.C.
In 2001, I had begun to move away from a synthetic grid, and into a more analytic analysis of form. What I like about this series of drawings (all on the same sheet) is how the teddy bear is rendered differently, exposing my thought process. In the middle drawing, you can see where I'm defining the object with simple geometric relationships. Rather than arbitrarily imposing a grid, I was looking to amplify the inherent geometry of the form.
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A row house in Amsterdam. It was my first experience in the Netherlands, mid-October, 2006. I was cold, tired, hungry, and loving every second of being there. The green dumpsters in front of the house epitomize what I love about the Netherlands: good design, even for the unsightly.
Eleven days before moving to London, I was sitting on the floor in front of Aaron's old brown wooden chair (the one with the shiny orange cushion) and using a six-foot tall mirror to draw myself. It was in the summer of 2006 that I first began to discover the pure power of the line.