The sketchbook from an unknown artist was one of many stacked in a pile. Glancing through a few pages I asked the antique dealer how much and bought all of them.
French Husband's grandmother was an artist. In his Uncle's home, there are a few pieces that she created. His Uncle has no children hopefully when the day comes and if he goes before his nieces and nephews that he has it written down to pass his mother's art on to them.
Otherwise, it might land in a heap at the brocante.
This one has a personality.
It is said that ears and hands are some of the hardest elements to draw and paint.
Looking through this sketchbook I found myself making up stories about the portraits.
Stories, when are not known, are invented. The thing about things, especially old things is that they speak a language
of curiosity, of wonder, even the flaws make us take a second look and have an opinion.
Santa Claus incognito.
I like the contradiction of light and dark.
Narrow lips, tiny eyes, set chin, makes me feel she is judgemental. Not happy.
Do you feel that when you look at her?
That tiny foot.
The hint of orange on his glass and lips makes the sketch.
A vast collection of characters, maybe people from his community and a few from another century, or maybe ghosts from his village.
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