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Bones are fascinating to me. I love how they cause some to become uncomfortable and yet draw others in to seek a closer understanding. As I am on vacation from my real life I choose to spend time with my bones. Every stroke of my pencil is an expression of loss when I render previously unfinished bones into a form that you can see. What you can not see is that the loss is welcomed. I am swallowed up by the continuous scraping sounds that create the different values. Each time the graphite strokes the page it creates a groove pressing the hills and valleys together. Molding the surface slowly to conform to my minds intentions and building layer upon layer the creates depth of realism. This is a form of meditation for me. Keeps the beast at bay…. For a time at least.
Our bones are not smooth you know. They are jagged and rough like touching sand paper or an old weathered plank of wood. We are deceived into thinking that it is safe to touch until our fingers have felt the piercing of a splinter and the droplet of blood forms on a fragile finger tip. We hurriedly place the injured digit into our mouths tasting the salty liquid and applying pressure as we suck to relieve the pain. The pain never leaves it is just postponed. Bones are like pain for me. Dimpled and yet deceptively smooth. They endure time long after the waste of your flesh has decayed. The reminder of what was and what will never be.
You are not a person to me but a form built from shapes bound by other shapes forming a whole. The whole of you gets hidden from sight but know that I see it. I know you. I have studied every nerve and every muscle, the pores on the skin to the individual hairs. You have no value to me but with out you I have nothing. The bone, tissue, fibers and body are just that. Things. To be used and to serve that that possesses them.

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