My daily drawing continues and along with it, the writing.
Every time I draw, I sit at my old typewriter and write.
I decided to use carbon paper rather than buying new ribbons. So I write without seeing what I’m writing appear on the page. I can’t see the words unless I peek behind the carbon paper.
This is OK for me because I taught myself to touch type when I did my A levels, twenty five years ago. I remember I had a book from the library with repeated phrases and combinations of letters which taught me how to memorise where the keys were. There were strict instructions in the book about not looking at the keyboard.
One of the things you had to do when looking for a temp job was perform a typing test to ascertain your typing speed. This figure often meant the difference in an hourly rate. It was important at the time to get that speed up as high as possible.
I find it interesting now that a skill I learnt primarily to temp and earn money is now one that I use as part of my artistic practice.
I made the decision after a few days of this final project to limit each day’s writing to the length of the carbon paper rather than the timing of the drawing. Confining myself to one page (just like in the drawing) defines the quantity of lines.
Each day of writing requires a re-arrangement of the carbon paper, the top sheet and the roll behind. A reminder of my early work days when I had to make carbon copies and the whole activity of sitting at a typewriter, writing someone else’s words or information now seems as antiquated and historical as writing with a quill by candlelight.
Typing for me is automatic and I find that the language that appears after drawing is easily translated through my fingers and keys onto the page.
Today, as I look back at the roll of accumulated words and thoughts, I can see where each section has started with the gap and slight shift of text across the page.
It’s these tiny differences that seem to becoming more significant in both the drawing and written pieces.
