The mind returns to its favorite symbols time and again, working through hidden problems like code running behind the face of a computer. Shapes spark up out of the quiet, toiling and transforming until a concept or truth has been integrated and clarified, much like the process of drawing. In my stillness I see rings and orbs, shimmering fish and expressionless dark eyes mounted upon angel wings, shadows cutting caverns deep as time itself, and light that barely escapes them. I imagine organisms, cells, flesh, leaves, and bones--the things you'd find decomposing in cold autumn mud.
It's almost like I can't help it. My hands and eyes have an intimate connection that cuts me out if I dare have conscious thought. I watch them carve shapes from discrepancies in patches of brandished black graphite. Value becomes my stone--light and dark chiseling away at beautiful forms. And what I see is the same each time. One idea may rear its head in a dozen drawings until I understand why.
"Symbols are not signs or allegories for something known; they seek rather to express something that is little known or completely unknown" Carl Jung (Collected Works, Volume 5, par. 329)
The Pearl begins each drawing, acting as my anchor, my catalyst, my altarpiece from which all inspiration is derived. The Pearl makes the work cyclical, causing the other forms to spin around its current, to cradle it, caress it. Barriers form to protect the Pearl, much like nature contains its precious organs in casings, petals, shells, and skin. Does this shape follow me as a beacon, or is it so ingrained in my nervous system that if I don't draw it first, I won't be able to draw anything else? Will its shape ever change, or will the roundness simply perfect itself? One day I hope it breathes. One day I hope it falls from the page and becomes me.
Some imagery recurs in art because it recurs in nature. After all, we are nature, and our bodies convey it. When we follow unconscious or chance movements, we emulate that system. Patterns appear. And learning patterns leads to wisdom. I know certain shapes and images show up in my drawings, just as I know certain behaviors show up in my life. I also know that it is human nature to protect beautiful and sacred things, hence why the pattern of a circle encased by a mandorla-like shape appears in nearly every one of my graphite drawings. Whether I know it or not, intuition compels me to draw protective patterns. An enclosed ecosystem comes to life.
I often meditate on the poetry of art, romantically retelling the human story, or simply experiencing life to its fullest. I see the images in my work repeat themselves in slightly new ways, like Monet's bridge changing with the seasons but remaining the same structure. I see figures dance across a page, but only after looking back do I realize the figure began as a small cell in the corner of a drawing.
Seeking these patterns with intentionality is what awakes them, what allows their image to continue, to evolve, and to educate.
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