I was searching within myself for what needed fixing.
I didn’t think I was any different.
I thought I was flawed.
I learnt very early on to look at others to see how I should be.
A face that changes.
A voice that grows harsher.
A silence that settles in.
A gesture that contradicts a word.
I spotted the discrepancies.
I held back my gestures, I prepared my
replies, I sought out what was expected of me.
My attention preceded every one of my
movements.
Through constantly observing in this way, it became
extremely precise.
It picked up on the slightest changes, on what
appears for a second, on what vanishes before
it has even been named.
This focus had developed out of the need to
anticipate.
It could change direction.
Drawing has shifted my perspective.
Faced with a sheet of paper, I find the same precision.
I no longer need to guess.
I watch one line approach another.
A colour alter the one next to it.
A white space become too narrow.
A shape lose its balance by a few
millimetres.
I can pause over almost nothing.
What is almost invisible becomes a
source of information for the drawing.
I move a line.
I add a colour.
I remove one.
I leave a space open.
Every decision stems from what I have perceived.
Precision remains. It no longer serves to predict
someone’s reaction.
I no longer look in order to anticipate.
I look to understand what is happening.
The way I perceive things wasn’t what needed to be fixed.
I can distinguish between what belongs to my perception and what has built itself up around it.
Drawing hasn’t taught me to become
someone else.
It gives my attention a different focus.
What I’d learnt to protect myself has
become a way of creating.
