He would encourage me to move about the studio. Would not give me a pose. Drew without looking at the paper. Drew on the floor. Follow the lines, he would say, watch the surroundings. A thin arm makes a face sadder. Describing shadows he grew small, rascally.
“Approaching may be our most profound vocation. Perhaps we do nothing else in our lifetimes but hedge round, surround things and people with greater or lesser precision, more or less conscientiously, swerving or brushing past them, at most grasping them for a moment, never arriving anywhere for good, except, at the very last, in the earth.“
Daniël Robberechts | Arriving in Avignon