Many Points of Me by Caroline Gertler
Author:Caroline Gertler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greenwillow Books
Published: 2020-11-17T00:00:00+00:00
Chapter
Fifteen
At home I hold up the image of Sally in the Stars on my phone next to the drawing of Mom on the mantel, but any which way I turn it, I canât make the points line up. Which double confirms that Dad didnât use this drawing of Mom as a sketch for the painting.
But I did see marks on the back of the canvas; maybe he just made the painting directly from those marks.
And then I think about all those other drawings of her I saw this morning. The ones that made Mom blush, that I didnât finish looking through because I did not want to see Mom nude.
Iâd make myself finish looking through those drawings of her now, if I could. But the portfolio is gone. I search through the piles on the table twice, but Iâm pretty sure Mom stuffed it in her workbag along with other papers she brought to the Met today.
I bite the inside of my cheek and take a quick look around her bedroom, to see if the portfolio is on her desk or floor, somewhere in eyesight. But I donât see it and donât want to go digging.
My stomach roils in disappointment with the feeling that Iâm never going to find proof. I go back to my room and set G, age 10 on my desk. I wish she could talk to me, tell me what she knows. If only Iâd glanced up from my book then, while Dad was drawing me, and asked him directly, âAre you going to paint me for the last asterism?â Then Iâd know.
I open to a fresh page in my sketchbook and begin copying G, age 10. Itâs comforting, following Dadâs lines. Like when I was little and we went to the beach and I followed in the path made by his footsteps, my smaller feet fitting into his larger imprints in the sand.
At first I copy his lines to get myself going. But as my drawing takes shape, I like how itâs turning out. Itâs like Dadâs here with me, giving me a drawing lesson.
Iâm forgetting the sound of his voice. But now I hear it again, low and gravelly.
âLearn how to control your pencil,â heâd say. âThatâs the key to drawing well. Dark shadows give depth to your drawing. Donât be afraid to deepen the shadows.â
Deepen the shadows, deepen the shadows. . . .
I repeat this like a mantra, until his voice becomes my voice. I shade and shade until the pencil point is worn down and needs to be sharpened.
When Iâm done, Iâm exhausted, like Iâve been in a trance. The kind of zone Theo gets into, barely aware of time passing. Iâm starving and needing a nap and buzzing with energy all at once.
I look at the drawing again. Itâs good. Really goodâas a copy of Dadâs drawing. But nothing more than a copy.
Then I take a silver paint pen and flip over the page. Without thinking about where Dad made the points on his drawing, I try it for myself.
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