Drawing on paper, drawing on the wall

All of the images I use for my wall drawings are photo-based and drawn on paper first. I draw them multiple times to see what needs to be emphasized and what can be left out.

Of course every drawing is different, but it’s interesting to compare the two versions. The drawings on paper are generally smaller. Paper is much smoother than the surface of the walls, so the walls are more forgiving. It’s almost impossible to erase and correct something on paper, whereas I can usually redo parts of the wall drawings (even though I try to avoid doing this). I can tell, and I imagine other people can as well, when a drawing has been overworked. I love working with (and against) the inconsistencies of the wall surface.

These drawings have been adjusted to the same size. The one on the left is on paper, the one on the right is on the wall:

 

 

Imagining history

History is a tissue of lies, exclusions and evasions; for every narrative that is documented and recorded there are many others that go unacknowledged.

The faces I’m drawing for my installation at the Burnaby Art Gallery represent the real and imagined former inhabitants of this building. “Fairacres,” as it was first known, was built as a retirement estate by Vancouver realtor Henry Ceperley and his wife Grace in 1910.

Prior to its conversion to the gallery in 1967, the mansion housed four wealthy families, including the Ceperleys (1910-1939), a community of Benedictine monks (1939-1954), a controversial religious cult (1954-1965) and a university fraternity (1965-1966).

As I research my project I’m aware that many stories associated with this building can only be imagined. Best represented are the accounts and images of the wealthy men who lived at Fairacres in the early 1900s. Few records of their wives and children survive and none at all concerning the servants who worked in these households.

The monks are fairly well-documented as a community, but not as individuals. Information about the questionable religious group, The Canadian Temple of the Universal Foundation of More Abundant Life, focuses on their charismatic leader, William Franklin Wolsey (“Archbishop John”). The fraternity boys, who spent only a few months in the house, are mostly undocumented, as well.

Whenever possible, I’m using actual photographic references of the former residents for my drawings. But most of the faces I use will be surrogates–anonymous faces that represent the wives, children, servants and students whose sojourns went unrecorded.

Blurred images

One of the recurring ways I signal the use of a lens within my work is by representing blurred and out-of-focus images. This fuzziness destabilizes the image, and obscures detail. These figure drawings aren’t about specific individuals; I’m interested in engaging with the unconfirmed.

Photography, drawing + mortality

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My drawings have always been based on photographs, usually ones I’ve staged and taken myself. I’m interested in Roland Barthes’ description of the photograph as representing something that was and has now ceased to be. Susan Sontag wrote: “To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.

I am always aware of the drawings’ relationship to the photograph. Making drawings based on photographs opens up a space for me to meditate on mortality, especially as I work with images from my family’s archive. The process of drawing slows down and marks the process of looking. These dark drawings simultaneously represent and obliterate their subjects.

Ambiguous faces

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My drawings are always based on photographs, usually ones I’ve taken myself. They are done quickly and represent gestural and intuitive responses to the photo, rather than articulate renderings. When I use powdered graphite, as I’ve done here, the images are articulated through shape and tone, rather than line. According to their clarity the faces appear to advance and recede within their pictorial space. The tenuous quality of the marks also suggest the vagaries of memory and time.

Although these images of my daughter obviously have personal significance, I’m also interested in the non-specific characteristics of the faces I draw. Individual drawings make it difficult to determine the subject’s age, gender, expression, etc. As these characteristics become confused the field of interpretation expands, inviting the viewer’s own projections and memories.

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