A Closer Look

This drawing was built around a spot of ink. Very often I was my best (and only) model, so I drew my hand holding the drop. Funny how I have the same hand. The one that draws all these things.

I was rearranging some pictures in the guest bathroom today. The one that needed more light was from my Rippowam high school sketchbook. I drew it in the early 70s, back when I was Barbara Johnson. And, like the former Barbara Johnson, the art is now all wrinkled, but still in action. I thought the story of its history (which I share with it) deserved to be told.

I was into lots of detail in those days. I’d been eyeing some colored inks and crowquill pens in the art store for the longest time. I kept the inks in a round fine leather bag tied with a string I’d macrame’d and was excited to try out the red. The first thing I did was spill a drop. I decided to build the drawing around it to see what would happen.

I often drew while my boyfriend’s band rehearsed. Detailed illustrations were my thing back then since I had the time, but not a lot of space, as I waited for him in someone’s garage or basement. There was always a lot of music going on while I drew.

Later, at 19, when I was married to Mickey the guitar player, I taped the drawing to the wood panel inside the sliding door of our Chevy Van. The van had carpet, a thrift shop comfy chair, an ashtray on a stand and curtains. I covered the entire front of this drawing with wide lengths scotch tape — wondering if was going to ruin it, but what the heck, we were moving to California! And the tape might help protect it as we packed up our life’s possessions and our dog Blossom in the van. But the van broke down so many times we spent almost all of our wedding money getting to St. Helena, where my sister was letting us stay while Mickey found a band to play in.

He went to one audition and decided he hated the California music scene. He insisted we move back. It was an important crossroad I didn’t take. By then the van would only start with a jump so we drove back in 3 days without turning off the engine.

Thanks to the magic of never throwing artwork out, the tape dried out so much it just flaked off over the years. You can still see its horizontal traces. Somewhere along the line I spray-mounted the drawing to some poster board, but not very well. Since its birth, this picture has lived in Connecticut, Massachusetts, Florida, Maryland, Virginia, again to Florida, and finally, weary but happy to be here, California.

In the end, it turned out to be a good thing Mickey returned to the East Coast. Before he died, he had a bigger career in music than he imagined, and I had a good career in commercial art. Though Lord knows what life I would have had if I’d stayed.

When I was drawing this, all of those dots and lines were created to the rhythm of music which was also being created. I wonder if by birthing something during a particular moment in time, some essence of that moment remains, even though the music stopped long ago.