A natural step after my recent obsession with drawing the skull was to take my sketchbook (a clever little Moleskine that flips open like a reporter's notepad) and try to draw the skulls within my fellow human's heads. Which is a morbid way of saying I went out and drew people's portraits, in this instance while trying to look nonchalant on the subway. And in most cases the people I chose to draw were not skeletal, with prominent cheekbones, etc., but as much as possible a good New York City cross section of body types, genders and races.
What's also morbid is the aggressive halogen light that glares down on one and all in all its civic gloom, throwing eyes into shadow and making all complexions sallow. Still and all, there, hidden underneath, are the eye sockets, the cheekbones, the maxillae and mandibles we all share in common.
I'm still under the spell of the drawings I did, noted below, of my cast skull draped with a cloth, and how drawing a face or head or all of the figure is essentially drawing the surface that shows hints of the form within.
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