"The one who least understood all of this was my deaf cousin. When we helped him down, pulling him--as I explained to you--by his legs, Mrs. Vhd Vhd lost all her self-control, doing everything she could to take his weight against her own body, folding her long silvery arms around him; I felt a pang in my heart (the times I clung to her, her body was soft and kind, but not thrust forward, the way it was with my cousin), while he was indifferent, still lost in his lunar bliss."

from Cosmicomics, by Italo Calvino

I made a drawing with many small lines, much as I've done before. I tried pasting it to the wall with some water.

The scale, to my hand.

And I thought about this:

Image found here.

It's a piece called Testimony by Kara Walker. It's naturally because I made a silhouette of sorts, as she does, and pasted it to the wall. Well, we'll see where that leads, for now it feels like exercises, like doing some specific things to discipline myself, although it might not mean much in itself. Making myself do something, like draw many, small lines, one after another, with small brushes and ink, on thin paper.

So perhaps if I make many and paste them on the wall, the imprint will be interesting? Or I will have learned something?

When the silhouette fell of the wall, this is what it looked like:

I thought it was interesting, especially the imprint left on the wall, and the paper like a leaf falling off a tree.