Our summer mornings have been so fine. We open the windows early during this the mildest summer of my recollection. Washington DC is famous for its humid, boiling summers (which I have always loved like a turtle loves the sun). But this year our summer will be famous for its mildness, and we have savored this mildness for the rare loveliness it offers. The breezes waft through the rooms, rattling the blinds, rustling papers, scattering thoughts and dreams.
I sat in this ocean of air and drank my morning tea like a rich monarch, wealthy beyond counting in photons and molecules of atmosphere. With all this heady luxury, I plotted out my course. I decided that I would rule with a kind pen, but that my empire should be vast and free. What if one’s thoughts roamed wildly? To draw whatever one pleases. The drawings can come from anywhere: from photos, from life, from bits of paintings one sees in the museum, from imagination and memory, from dreams and wishes.
Wherever you are, with whatever medium you possess, on sheets of any size, in colors of any hue, to make careful tight drawings of a world you love with obsession or fast, frivolous, whimsical drawings tossed off as fast as thoughts fly. Blind drawings proddingly, probingly made as though stumbling and fumbling through a fog or mist, the mist — the world. The world a shining veil before one’s eyes.
What if you drew whatever popped into your head? What if you took all your limitations and used them? Push everything to the edge. Let whimsy rule. To draw anything, anytime, anywhere. And to seek a perfect freedom of line in a royal realm of images.