Last week I began another koi drawing. I do these drawings as same-size studies for paintings, as forms of exploration, as ends-in-themselves, and I do them because it’s fun. But my little secret bunker studio is too small to accomodate my growing koi pond of imagination. Two of the large drawings are in storage, one pinned on top of the other. The third is hanging high on the wall so I can use it as a reference for a painting in progress, and the newest koi drawing occupies the only available wall space remaining.
One of these days I’m going to exhibit these guys together in one — very large — room. And it will be a challenge getting them framed since drawings go under glass. It’s going to be one big sheet of special glass to cover drawings that are 40ish or 50ish inches high and 60 inches wide. And though the glass used to frame pictures is designed to cut down on glare, it’s probably impossible to have a sheet of glass that size that doesn’t reflect back some of the light to the spectator. So the drawing in exhibit will never have quite the same punch as the drawings have when they are simply pinned to the wall. The artist’s private delight.
I have wondered about whether crayon on paper was such a good choice given these difficulties. But the beauty of the medium is just too wonderful to forego. Moreover, these crayon drawings reproduce remarkably well, perhaps better than any other medium I’ve ever used. And the fun quotient is inestimable. I love to draw anyway, but scribbling with crayons evokes deep stored joys going back to childhood and even stretching back through archetypal evolution to the dim beginnings of human existence. Through these drawings I tap my inner cave-person and do something like my own Lascaux cave painting act.
And I discovered that I like my inner cave-person.