I have the privilege of visiting a very secret garden on a daily basis this week. It is the perfect cross between an ancient Japanese garden and a sub tropical Cornish garden. The weather is suddenly very hot and the light and shade astonishing.
All this charmed me in to taking out a drawing board and charcoal. I rarely draw any more and I asked myself why. Sitting on a bench in the lush garden with three attentive cats and the perfect voice of the blackbird, I began the old familiar routine.
Forgot I had Parkinson's again. When I paint my left hand does not tremor at all. When I draw it has it's little drawing dance of it's own. I am blessed to be right handed and after the adjustment of realising again that my body is different now, I got in to the swing of two hands doing different things at the same time (Maybe I should take up drumming.)
I used to demonstrate drawing while teaching in a university. I couldn't do it now; everyone would be hypnotized by the wayward left hand. I am.
I am going back to the blissful garden now, where there is no-one to watch me draw except the ever vigilant cats.
No comments:
Post a Comment