All the drawings in this room were made within the last twelve months, and many were made through direct observation. As a child and into my early twenties, I suffered from bouts of debilitating depression, and it was only when I arrived in Richmond to begin my graduate education that this depression lifted. I think it was partly due to the immense freedom of being able to do whatever I wanted, and to have all my days spent in school studying with teachers I loved. It was also because I had my own home, shared with another graduate student, and a stipend, which, though modest, was just enough for me—and all my meals, rent, and materials.

Another reason was, I’m certain, all the walking I did. Each day I walked up and down Monument Avenue, from the arts building to the Museum District. I walked so much that very soon I didn’t have to think about the route at all, and the forty or so odd minutes became periods of daydreaming, of almost watching my thoughts like a movie—like a dream. One more reason could simply be that I was getting older, and my body and mind were changing. And last year, I changed again and felt a deep sorrow that would not go away—and surprised me in its intensity. In that time (and perhaps it’s not quite over), I could not bring myself to make things or draw things like I did before, through imagination and a common practice in Indian schools: that of making a Memory Drawing—scenes and situations made not from direct reference but from whatever you remembered or could imagine.

In my day-to-day, I began to do things mechanically because they had to be done, and in drawing too, I began to make what was around me. I signed up for a flower subscription so that every week I could drive to a nearby farm in Maine (where I was living part of last year) and draw a bouquet that the farmer put together for me. I drew myself many times over. I made scenes of bulletin boards, library books, collages with old drawings—all things that came easily. And I worked mainly with crayons and coloured pencils, things that, at least within my ability, did not permit much blending or creation of new colour. It was quicker and more immediate than the tedious watercolour paintings that I enjoy making otherwise (and began making in Richmond, in fact).

These drawings are a calendar of this difficult but still wonderful year—and also a practice in using drawing to pass time and pay attention. While making them, I am able to make my concerns very immediate and related mostly to colour and approximation. I take many breaks to drink tea, snack, listen to Middlemarch on tape, and talk to friends on the phone. I listen to the news. Many of the drawings are made right here on my dining table, and so I see them before I sleep and as soon as I wake up. I like to spend my time this way.