In a shady courtyard in Urfa, I asked the wrinkly-eyed father of a tobacconist if I could draw him. He seemed confused but kindly accepted, leaning against the tree he was sitting under for support. His eyes darted back and forth between my face and the white page of my sketchbook, occasionally straying toward his son and the small gathering crowd, searching for answers. He indulged me for a good twenty minutes and the çay that his son offered me, and when I handed him the book for his approval and signature, those eyes of his formed a brief film of wetness.
I have missed sketching.
4 comments:
Samantha - I have been following your blog for the past three years and am always overwhelmed by your beautiful photographs of a place far away from me. Your descriptions portray the feeling of the places you have been and makes me want to visit the these places. Wonderful sketches in this post! I am in awe. Keep it up!
I live in a small community in rural Alberta, Canada.
It's wonderful to see your sketches again! These are lovely and the story of the man you sketched shows how powerful sketching connections can be sometimes.
Absolutely wonderful!
Thank you so much, Dave! I appreciate it. I have been sketching a bit more now, after taking nearly a year off, so stay tuned!
Thank you, Vicky! I love sketching portraits the most, and I'm trying to use it as an opportunity to get over my shyness. Be more bold!
Thank you, Julia!
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