19 December 2006

paint a lady (desaturated)

desaturatedlady
LW 12/16/06
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LW said...

brokenheartist's statement:

A few years ago in class, I first heard the Goethe quote, "The eternal feminine draws us on" (die Ewig-Weibliche zieht uns hinan). I like this idea, and I probably wouldn't have much appreciation for romantic literature if I didn't believe it to be true. But lately, this mysterious and usually abstract feminine life-force has contacted me in a more tangible manner.

It started with a post-it note left on my windshield with a name and number in bubbly scrawl. Then it was a text message sent to me during a nap that promised me a mix tape if I could guess the sender's name in three tries. And finally the eternal feminine called me on the telephone, which really messed with my head.

It was Friday night, pretty late. Someone called from a private number and said that she was my neighbor, that she'd seen me around and thought she could make something happen for me. I was confused, and did not know how to react. I was sure it was a prank, but I didn't recognize the voice, and the girl's embarassment struck me as genuine.

The conversation ended before I could establish much of anything about her. All I knew was that she knew my name, my phone number and that I live on 43rd street. Was someone really putting themselves on the line to try and meet another human being? Or were they just messing with my head? All I knew for sure was that I was being mistaken for a teenager, which I'm told is not hard to do,

I'll probably never know who called me, and I guess that's just as well. If I tried to figure it out, I might wind up looking like Martha Dumptruck, the overweight girl in "Heathers" who Winona Ryder forged a love letter to. For those of you who don't remember, when Martha Dumptruck approached the jock who supposedly wrote it to her, everyone laughed in her face. And then later in the movie she got hit by a car on purpose.

Saturday morning. The phone call was still heavy on my mind. The whole thing had affected me more than I expected it to, and perhaps more than it should have. But rather than take the Martha Dumptruck or the "Sufferings of Young Werther" route, I decided to use my strange phone call-induced mood to produce some artwork. After a warm-up sketch or two, I drew this here portrait of a girl with colorful clothes, sleepy eyes and a hint of a smile. I don't know who exactly she is, but she knows something I don't. Which I guess I can live with.

9:27 AM

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