My attention never stays in
the same place.
Weight training and drawing shift my
attention in opposite directions. During the exertion, it
enters the body, passing through the muscles, the
bones, the points of support, the trajectories. In drawing,
it almost leaves this physical shell to
settle into the shapes, colours and
relationships that emerge.
Weight training and drawing seem
to have nothing in common. One calls for strength,
the other for precision of vision. One imposes
weight, the other lets the hand follow whatever
presents itself.
When I’m weight training, my
gaze turns inwards. My heart
races, my breath quickens, my
muscles burn, the load becomes
heavier. I sometimes close my eyes, yet the images
continue.
I see the bones supporting the movement, the
tendons guiding the paths, the muscles
contracting, relaxing, rebuilding themselves. I
mentally trace this living
architecture.
I am the one lifting the weight; I am
also the one observing the movement, correcting
my stance, adjusting my trajectory.
Just a few centimetres are enough then to
encompass the whole space: a knee that
moves, a foot that pushes against the floor, a
muscle that contracts, a breath held back
then released.
Then I draw.
The movement reverses.
It settles into the colours, into the
lines, into the textures, into the relationships
that weave themselves between the shapes. I almost
cease to feel my own weight. Time
becomes porous, fatigue vanishes, the body
falls silent.
My attention now lies at the end
of a line, in the space between two
shapes, at the precise point where one colour
meets another.
When I look up, it returns all at once:
my shoulders, the nape of my neck, my back.
The body hadn’t disappeared. It had simply ceased
to be the vantage point from which I was looking.
In weight training, distance is measured
between a point of support and a joint. In
drawing, it can span the entire sheet.
I am not merely changing activities.
I am changing territory.
