To draw is to let my hand slide smoothly across the surface of the paper to a meeting point between realities that are hidden but visible, if you stop to look. Plants, flowers, leaves, nature of the being that we are and that connects us with the world from which we emerged and which we have abandoned in favor of artificiality.
Tiny drops of dew, the sound of my feet as I move through the fallen leaves on floor that intersect, light that penetrates through the treetops, the inner silence that communicates you with who you are and how you are. All this materializes through the lines, the color and the forms, in a white surface, that traps those wanderers through the space of what we were.
The drawing is me, I am the drawing.