THE DRAWING: VERTIGO
”..In 1728 William Chelsdon, an English Surgeon, removed the Cataracts from the eyes of a thirteen–year–old boy born blind. Despite his high intelligence and youth, the boy encountered profound difficulties with the simplest visual perceptions. He had no idea of distance. He had no idea of space or size. And he was bizarrely confused by drawing and paintings, by the idea of a two– dimensional representation of reality.”
Approximations: The skein of the intellect thrown across the world, drawing it into form: fragile exercise in speculation, almost as abstract as mathematics: a tentative hypothesis on what the world might be in its wholeness.
Meditation between object and sensation – pure light, electric sensation taking form somewhere in the darkness of the head. Shifting patterns ruled into structures and significance through the structure of neurones the filter of memory.
At this point, between everything and nothing: between empty formula and chaos – between language and a meaningless babble of random noise I approach this act of drawing.
She is there, concrete enough this girl, a detached nakedness on a podium. Beautiful, I think; a full breast and the roundness of a female stomach plummeting secretly down and inviting the curve of the hand.
The potential is so powerful.
The same vertigo as the diver: poised on the edge of undisturbed whiteness, absolute perfection which my partial marks can only disappoint.
Thrown back always on this, the most difficult moment – poised between abstraction and involvement: a numbness on my high diving board – the vertigo of endless possibility before choice. The whiteness is perfect, complete, pregnant with all possibilities like the leap of hope that takes us unaware in a new an unknown face not tarnished with the atmosphere of contact. Perfection does not allow form. Did God feel this fear and trepidation on the edge of creation?