An old man, green leather satchel sitting on his feet, shivers into his sketches. The drawing pad, with no place to rest, bobs with the frail man's shaky hands. His fingers seem aware of the precarious situation, prancing about the page smoothly and with intent. His eyes match their pace, spying quick glances beyond ebony framed glasses, returning to the paper bringing memories of curves with them. This gaunt fellow is alive beyond his year, acting with urgency, tracing the shadows, weight, and resistance of 'The Lament for Icarus.' Beyond the idle chatter of patrons is a silence all his own.
Created: Jan 27, 2010Document Media