When a passerby glanced at her she wondered what they saw. She sensed her face as a blank space, a fuzzy unformed 'thing'. If pressed to describe features she floundered, flustered in confusion, concerned at what the questioner might read in her embarrassment.
During childhood she looked outward, her gaze not met in any kind way she remained unreflected in the eyes of others. She looked outward to prepare herself, to understand the lay of the land. Her skin became exquisitely sensitive, a receptive layer picking up shifts of mood, the feelings of others. Where did she start and they begin? Skin was no barrier, it held her together while allowing all manner of unwanted-ness in, it stopped her insides spilling, but just.
Decades later she chose to look into her own eyes, to draw a self portrait everyday for 28 days without judgement. In charcoal, in 2B pencil, in graphite she observed and drew. A conversation between mirror and her surface, reflected. The graphite an anchor, proof that she was here. Night after night she masking taped paper to drawing board, mooring the drawing with softly sketched lines, intuitive measurements. Then, always beginning with the eyes she began to plot the face, layering pencil line, smudging charcoal, rubbing away mistakes. More often that not the face that emerged was not quite hers, or her, but marginally rearranged. Every night she taped the drawing to the living room wall and was greeted by a crowd of faces each morning.
In drawing she began to understand, gazing with soft eyes she saw herself. A face not arranged for others, eyes brimming with sorrows and an unguarded remarkable wonder. She gazed with a mothers love, and within this the eyes that met hers became steadier, surer. She learned about the curve of her cheek, the almond shape of her eye, the upturn of her nose, the enviably beautiful ear. With each pencil mark she became solid, formed, drawing herself into existence.
