Jacques Derrida wrote in Memoirs of the Blind ,
‘It is as if seeing were forbidden in order to draw, as if one drew only on the condition of not seeing, as if drawing were a declaration of love destined for or suited to the invisibility of the other…’
I am almost certainly quoting Derrida wildly out of context but in my thinking about abstract drawing this resonates in a space where otherwise words cannot find a place. The great space of personal memory.
This afternoon the beaching of a Killer Whale on the beach at Shingle Street, its large carcass inert and powerless on the outgoing tide. The sucking shingle,voices in unison.
Such memories the stuff of drawings.