Whenever I sit down to draw or paint, they come. These faces. Nameless strangers born onto the page from my pencil or brush. I wish I knew who they were.
.jpg)
Are they faces of people I saw somewhere? Or are they faces of people I have yet to meet?
Sometimes I wonder if they are even mine. I wonder if they are inside me, waiting to get out, waiting to be named. What should I call them? I don't dare give them names. So they come forward, one by one, birthed onto blank page or canvass or strip of paper I happen to have on hand, accidental childbirths that surprise the hand of the mother that creates them.
Are they faces of the dead? The ones I sometimes see when when I am not really seeing. Is this how they want to be remembered? Maybe I should say a prayer after each one is completed - but are they asking for me to pray for them? Or should I pray for me?
No comments:
Post a Comment
Talk to me