Tarnished Lines

When I pick my pencils and put my hands on the drawing board, I feel a dark fog dissipating from my mind to make way for a vision of any kind so I may draw it. Then, I outline the image within my mind as if I’m sculpting it with my hand and a pencil. Accents and contours begin to clear out and the lines are sharper moment after moment until they become clear as well. But it has life. It has a will and a mind of its own. It moves…

Going back to the mountains, where I learn about life, about hardship, about challenges, about greatness, where I meditate with each step I put my foot on the hard rocks, I see that the lands are already drawn by great giants with their ridgety tools. I don’t see them with physical eyes, only with my mind’s eyes. They are somehow burried within their works, their mountains, their valleys and hillocks. There is movement in stillness. Every landscape is as if these giants have modeled them right behind my back. When I turned around, everything was still. They didn’t want me to see them in action. They don’t hide, but however they don’t show themselves working in front of every mortal. One must be still in mind in order to perceive them working...

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