Читать книгу Croak - Jenny Sampirisi - Страница 26

Girl One

(Interior café. Regretful.)

Let’s be honest for a moment. I’ve never enjoyed cafés but last night I drew a picture of this café. It looked absurd. I don’t draw well. I’ve had no training and I’m not naturally gifted. (Muttering.) But I drew this café. Girl Zero draws, so I thought, this is something one number can do as well as another. My café looked all ribs and breasts, legs entwined. No face to speak of. I don’t know how to shade things in and that’s the detail. Who can tell what’s a table and what’s a chair? I started shading tables and chairs. That’s the eating, you know. Puff out the objects. But I don’t have the skills. (Muttering.) If I’m telling the hand to tell the pencil to make a doorknob, and not just any doorknob, but the exact one from this café, then I need to know everything about that doorknob and how it looks in proportion to the room. This room. But right then all I had was the room I was in. And that room didn’t happen to have a doorknob at all. Since we’re being honest, I find doorknobs boring. When I think of them as actual objects I have no sense of their artistic significance. (Muttering.) My brain defaults to other images I’ve seen of doorknobs in movies. To my mind they always have keyholes worth peering through. This is an ideal doorknob that we can all agree is exactly as a doorknob ought to be in the world. So anyway, that café, the one I drew, didn’t have a doorknob. This café does. That’s honest. I stopped drawing because I didn’t know where to put the light. (Incomprehensible speech.)