Drawn without training, a no 2. pencil and Crayola colored penciles.
I’d like to formally explore drawing “rules” and techniques one day. You can tell I’m very untrained. Proportions are off. Look at her boots. Sigh, so many things to explore in this life and not enough time.
My dad drew. I remember as a child, I snooped through his letters and paperwork, wishing I knew how to read Vietnamese. I wanted to read the letters he used to write to my maternal grandfather. I liked the stationary and running my fingers over the ridges of imprinted words. (I also like running my fingers over the ridges of completed jigsaw puzzles.) While snooping one day, I found some drawings he drew while in a reeducation camp in Vietnam. They were drawn on pieces of cardboard and they were BEAUTIFUL. I think that’s painfully romantic. Drawing pictures of your wife while imprisioned. I can imagine him admiring his drawings with deep longing every night before bed. I should write myself a reminder to ask him if he’s tucked these drawings anywhere…