WALKING TO DRAW DOESN’T TIRE

Walking is deeply related to landscape drawing. The landscape rarely offers itself to the eye. It is necessary to look for it to find it. I walk a lot to be able to draw, and in this process my concentration progressively intensifies1. I repeat paths that surprise me by revealing themselves as new drawing possibilities2. The coming and going of each walk, instead of being just an inverted repetition of the route3, allows me to duplicate the observed landscape. I try to look at things as if I had never seen them. The simple change of light at different times of the day transforms my perception and the drawing contained in the landscape. I walk and look at the landscape looking for the drawing that is already there. The reality is full of drawing lines, only the contours are still confirmed to be absent4. The landscape provides me with profound experiences. The smells, sounds, and temperatures help me relate more intensely to what I see. I have to overcome the obstacle of the wind, the extreme temperatures, and the insects that bite my skin. The drawing process is holistic because it encompasses more than the simple articulation between looking and registering. Landscape is all that you see, a bend in the road or an oyster shell. The context can be rural, urban or suburban. There are no hierarchies, no differences in treatment or scale, everything is potentially interesting. All the fieldwork is developed in the various sketchbooks I carry with me. The drawings are usually quick and try to translate the rhythms of the various components of the landscape. I am interested in being as truthful as possible in my drawing so that the landscapes are recognizable in their simplified description. A good day results in an average of 15 to 20 drawings, not all of which have potential for further development. The fieldwork articulates resistance, insistence, and pleasure. It is the different configurations of the landscapes that inform me on how to draw them. The rhythms of the volumes and the textures of the surfaces indicate the movements my hand and arm should make. The construction of a landscape drawing is primarily a deep understanding of the gestures and rhythms necessary for its realization. The studio work consists mostly of refining the sketchbooks drawings from an increase in scale. I try to make them more complex and correct problems of expression of the originals. The sketchbooks drawings are made with various materials, but in the studio Chinese ink imposes itself as the unifying material of the work. Redrawing the landscapes triggers very intense memories that sometimes provoke the need to write small texts that try to fix the sensations felt at a certain moment. From the walks I bring physical samples that I draw in the studio through direct observation. Oyster shells become scale models of landscapes on the table. The way I draw does not change since I am still working processually on the theme of landscape. I walk a lot to be able to draw. It is a mentally and physically invigorating process. There is nothing more comforting than the returns with new drawings in the sketchbooks while the sun is setting and the birds are arranging themselves in the trees. Life is perfect in those moments.