In
March of 2016, I decided that I needed to do two things. First, after a long
period of painting and drawing mostly from photo sources, I wanted to reconnect
with observational drawing. Second, with the rollicking, jam-packed schedule of
a growing family, I wanted to fit art-making into all the in-between spaces in
my day. So I started carrying a sketchbook everywhere.
More than two years and almost two
thousand drawings later, I’ve filled enough books to fit snugly inside a
carry-on suitcase or on a nice wide bookshelf. I draw in parks, in waiting
rooms, on jury duty, on coffee breaks, but mostly I draw on subway cars and
platforms. I draw quickly with a soft pencil, a gel pen, or a thick lithographic
crayon. I often work back into the drawings later, with crayons, watercolor, or
just a wet brush. Finding a way to work in these in-between spaces and times
has become vitally important because I became a father again during the summer
of 2016, and, since 2017, I’ve been working without a studio for the first time
in 25 years.
It
didn’t take long to remember the satisfying, engaging pleasure of drawing from
life. But in the extreme political climate of 2016, as I filled page after page
with images of New Yorkers of endlessly varied backgrounds, appearances, and
ages, the work began to resonate even more deeply with me – it became a little celebration
of the electric and beautiful diversity of our city. We are all thrown
together on subway cars and platforms and stairways, those odd, transitional
spaces in our crowded city, where we’re acutely aware of the spaces between us,
and of this simultaneously public and private space and time we occupy between
where we come from and where we go.
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