Concentrated strokepublished: 2010-10-12
She has strong features: high cheekbones, powerful jaw. She is tall and has an athletic build. She sits in front of the piece she is working on. It is too big for an easel so she has pinned it to the wall, next to another unfinished piece. Her back is turned to the door, where I stand and watch as she adds a layer of white over greyish greens. Small strokes, followed by a gentle dip of her brush which she then glides along the finger of a boney hand she had already painted. It is the disproprotionately large hand of a skinny woman, falling backwards, her face morphed and tormented. She falls into nothingness. Veins protrude through her wrists and behind her knees. Other hands claw at her. The entire piece is in greens and greys. Almost a frame, against which she stands out. In the way she sits – patient and calm – the red flower in her hair and an equally as crisp T-shirt. She is wearing a polkadot skirt. She has crossed her ankles. She leans in to lovingly place another concentrated stroke.