Drawing is never reproducing — in order to see, you have to know how to look, and you have to know what you’re looking at.
“On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast,
Behold with music’s many-stringed charms
The silence groweth thou. O rare delight!
The melody upon clear strings inflected
Were dull when o’er taut sense thy presence floweth,
With quivering notes’ accord that never palleth.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: Of Incense”