=[零舍X设涂社]=

Something about that drawing was different from anything I'd done before. I took my time and then suddenly I zoned out. My mind went blank, my breathing slowed, and when I finally stopped to look at my page, I was amazed that I had managed to create anything so beautiful. At first it seems a fluke, but then I draw the content of our medicine cabinet (slowly, slowly), and again I saw something new. (You can see it, too, on the next page).

What was different was not the drawing bu the seeing. I caressed what I drew with my eyes, lingering over every curve and bump, gliding around contours and into shadows. No matter what I looked at in this way, I saw beauty and felt love. It was very weird but it happened again and again. When I slowed way down and let my mind go, I had the same incredibly sensual experience. It didn't matter what I drew. And then I discovered that it didn't matter what the drawing was like. In fact, I could simply toss it away, like the skin of a banana.

What mattered was the slow, careful gaze.

The reason why most people draw badly is because they draw symbols instead of what they see. A nose is a sort of triangle. An eye is a circle with another one inside. An ear is a circle with a squiggle. The brain has an inventory of shorthand symbols for stuff, and that's what we draw.

It's very human. Assigning things to categories, using symbols and signs; these skills separate us from the beasts. Unfortunately, these symbols are a screen through which we come to see the world. We say, "That person is rich, that one's crass. He's a criminal type, she's a blonde, they're famous, she's in a wheelchair..."

We lump people and things and experiences into categories and deal with them accordingly. It's efficient but it strips the world of texture and chance, like eating every meal at McDonald's or wearing the same uniform every day.

This kind of thinking shows itself when we try to draw. In fact, that's the reason most people will say, "Oh, I can't draw." Kids never say that, until they reach the age of twelve or so, and their symbols are hard-baked.

What I began to see by drawing is that everything is actually special and unique and interesting and beautiful. Everything. Just by sitting and studying it, I quickly began to penetrate beyond the categorical imperative that made me feel so afraid.

I saw that if everything around me looks different than I think it does, maybe the gloomy life I had been defining for us was also just an illusion.

Because just as a tree is not a tree is not a tree, I had no real idea what life with a disabled wife would be like.

I'd have to wait and see.