Thursday, May 27, 2010

Canvas 39




“Canvas 39”
May 24, 2010

[click to enlarge]


5.27.2010 #2
5.27.2010 #1 (marginalia)


4 comments:

Janice said...

Thank you William from The Crow & The Apple :)

William Michaelian said...

Caw! Thank you, Janice. And if you ever need canvas, I have 39 pieces from which to choose.

Woman in a Window said...

William, while I was growing up my mother had a fake marble surround in her bathroom. I would stare at it and find the faces. And tonight, Robert and I drove a back road v.e.r.y. slowly and I looked to tree trunks when I wasn't jumping about and pointing at clouds or the changing light. Your faces could live there. I wonder on you and how you might create these. Why. What it might be like where you draw. How a drawing comes to you. How you take your seat. You draw these faces. I wonder on your drawing that picture for us - that picture of you in your space. Where do these images live afterwards? To what purpose do they live at all?

Just thinking.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Erin, that my faces could live in and among the trees is one of the greatest compliments they could receive. As to the how and why behind them, I wonder about the same things you do. Sometimes during the process I’m an outside observer, a third party looking on. Sometimes I’m hardly present at all. I honestly don’t know whether the drawing begins with the work, or the work begins with the drawing. It feels like both. I do know that I’m always surprised when it’s done — first, that it is done, and second, by what’s revealed. Granted, what’s revealed might not always be obvious to others; I suspect much of it is felt as my own personal response. And of course that’s also part of the process. Another part is knowing, while I work, that I will share the drawing with others — because I can almost always tell from the beginning when a piece of writing or a drawing is meant to be shared. Anymore, very little is held in private. And this, I think, answers, at least in part, your question about where the images live afterwards. In the minds of others. In mine. And I insist they have their own private lives as well, lives that we can only imagine. That must be their purpose.