Cirker

The lines, curves, and shapes reach out to me. They sit there on the page and try to tell me something. I search the image before me and find no words but my father’s signature in the bottom right-hand corner. I am fascinated by his work, his art on a white sheet of paper. After realizing I am lost in thought I turn back to my open sketchbook to see a half-drawn character waiting to cast a shadow on my page. My father does not create but recreates the fifth element in front of him; Looking at an Original piece my father copies it with near precision. I am unlike my father; I do not copy but I trace. I trace right over the images of anot