For me, travel, like everyday life in one’s hometown, has it’s ups and downs. There are moments of boredom, waiting around for a train or a reservation, moments of reserve, not feeling up for the crowds, the hundreds of languages washing over you as you try to make sense of the ancient sights sitting right in front of you. When I draw, time stops. When I draw I become part of the moment, I am simply “seeing”. In a way, it is a form of meditation, I forget my fears, my worries, and feelings of inadequacy, as my eyes scan the world in front of me, in search of a composition that suits me. I find a bench, preferably in the shade, and begin examining every detail, first the dark shades, the shadows, and then where the light hits. I begin to map out shapes, keeping in mind where the background of an object might peek through. I think about the direction of the lines, and then how I will create marks. Long loose lines, or scribbles?
What I love about a blind contour, or even a continuous line drawing is that you have to look at the body without allowing your perceptions or imagination to dictate what you see.
You’re really noticing the body and it’s little idiosyncrasies and trying to depict it on paper, and it ends up looking like a lot of scribbles but the nature of the scribbles is that they’re moving, like a living breathing human being, and you can pick out the little details that are unique to each.
The body always changing, being sculpted, lifted, sagged, hunched as it moves, as it’s breathing changes and as it has different thoughts, and emotions. Blind contour will inevitably be imperfect, which is what I love about it, because it captures more of a feeling, the soul of something. You never know what you will see when you look down at the page in front of you after you’re finished.