When I started the Sketch of the Week feature on this blog a few months ago, my first sketch was a barn behind my apartment. Today we're looking at another dilapidated barn-like structure, one that's located about a half a mile or so from my home. I had only a pencil on me, so it's not the easiest thing to see:
I've walked by this structure countless times. To me, its sagging, tired roof possesses a weary yet elegant rhythm, like the sighs of a worn accordion, tired but still trudging on out of sheer stubbornness.
Old, run-down barns are a well-established subject in Vermont art, and for the last few months I've been thinking about taking on the genre myself, though I'm still pondering what it is I want to say through them. It's not enough to just do a drawing of a barn, that's been done plenty of times, but these sketches will be the springboard from which I'll hopefully leap into something new, something thoughtful.
Admittedly, there's a personal dimension to this as well. I sketched this when I had learned that my grandfather had been admitted to the hospital due to the return of his lymphoma. A few days ago, he passed away. When I look at this barn, aged, bowed with the weight of time, but still stubbornly refusing to collapse, I think of him, for that's how he was right up to the end.
I suppose it's a New England thing.
I've walked by this structure countless times. To me, its sagging, tired roof possesses a weary yet elegant rhythm, like the sighs of a worn accordion, tired but still trudging on out of sheer stubbornness.
Old, run-down barns are a well-established subject in Vermont art, and for the last few months I've been thinking about taking on the genre myself, though I'm still pondering what it is I want to say through them. It's not enough to just do a drawing of a barn, that's been done plenty of times, but these sketches will be the springboard from which I'll hopefully leap into something new, something thoughtful.
Admittedly, there's a personal dimension to this as well. I sketched this when I had learned that my grandfather had been admitted to the hospital due to the return of his lymphoma. A few days ago, he passed away. When I look at this barn, aged, bowed with the weight of time, but still stubbornly refusing to collapse, I think of him, for that's how he was right up to the end.
I suppose it's a New England thing.
My condolences, Sara. I'm very sorry for your loss.
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