My abstract drawings, while intimately linked to elements of nature, have other associative meanings. I use line and color as vehicles for personal expression. The drawings are an open-ended visual story. I draw with pastels. The drawing begins with a line, something visual and visceral, an impulse or an exhalation. Wanting to record, to touch, to reveal. The insistence of lines alone, like first notes of a song or a few words in a story, just that much.
Looking for it while making it. Here are the lines that run from the bottom to the top, mostly thin, some are dots on the page from too much pressure. There is only one path upward. Lines added at the top intersect and form a pattern, curving across the middle, slipping to the edges and curling back. A new line that is not, that is an absence. Space is left and that is the line, rubbed out. Scratches across time as tracings of things. The red osier branches along the stream or in the wild pussy willow thicket, a tangle of silver buds breaking through winter, their colors deepening. Pushing, then dragging the mark of what was an outline of purpose. It may be something, a diagram of the land, of home. Drawing is a way I write my thoughts.
Four lines bend as threads upward.
Wavering inaudible sounds.
from a poem by Ann Stokes“On Viewing Nancy Storrow’s Drawing”