Drawn In

By Lisa Huffaker

January 11, 2021

Drawn In

I got better at drawing when I began to think of petting an animal. I sent my eye running along the spine of a thing, felt it warm and alive, arching its back into my palm. I moved my eye like I’d move my hand, stroking an edge, pressing against the body of a mass. Not always, but sometimes, the actuality began to purr. A vibration shimmered beneath my eye and translated something into me–the sense, not only of a thing, but its being. And because being can only occur in time, and because all things subject to time are doomed, this perception drew from me a sort of sorrow, a knowledge that sooner or later this actuality would no longer lean its miraculous weight against me–would no longer be, at all. Its precious fragility moved me–impelled my hand if I allowed it. My eye glided along an outline. My hand ached to caress it. If no one was watching, I let my hand pretend. And if there was a pencil in my hand, and paper under the pencil, then, incidentally, a map of my adoration began to grow.


Lisa Huffaker’s poems appear in 32 Poems, Spillway, The Boiler, Able Muse, and other journals. Her project White Rock Zine Machine offers art and writing through sculptural vending machines. She has been a visiting artist at the Dallas Museum of Art and the Nasher Sculpture Center, and has an installation on view at Ro2 Art. www.lisahuffaker.com


Photo by Ranurte courtesy of Unsplash

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