This unworthy whorphan thought it hard to write well; then, he tried to draw well. Writing and drawing share certain fundamental rules, including those of symmetry, planning, composition, patience, and simplicity. Whereas, however, one can fix a broken sentence by following the guidance of Messrs Strunk & White and look in a dictionary for the correct spelling of a thousand different words, one of the only ways for the artist who works alone to correctly depict the bent leg of a kneeling woman is to act as his own model and hope that the interface between finger, hand, wrist, arm, and brain works well enough for him to accurately reconstruct the desired shape on paper.
Drawing the Grigovian coat of arms was easy compared to trying to capture a human form in motion, but with enough tries and dozens of body parts sketched out and promptly erased, he finally has something with which he is satisfied. The only way to get smarter is to play a smarter opponent (The Principles of Chess, 1883, as quoted in the movie Revolver, by Guy Ritchie); the only way to sharpen artistic skills is to practice them every day. As he works, the old lessons – those learned in gymnasium and college – float up from the sunken wrecks of distant memory, guiding his hand as often as they remind him of the need to be humble, diligent, and forgiving. Among the lessons he remembers most vividly is to not press too hard when drawing with a pencil. His mother taught him this when he was a child; it is as true today as it was then. In practicing yoga daily and getting better at it with something akin to painstaking slowness, he is learning another lesson passed down through the ages: piece by piece, the the treasure of the universe is amassed. Gradually, he may just make something of himself. Failure rarely kills. Mahalo.
mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥
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