Inner Whimp

2013, mixed technique on paper

The inner whimp is me, inside me, when my typical strategies are failing, when pressure makes everything succumb smoothly and surely, and skid suavely and dumb. It’s awesome. I will explain why in just a moment.

In the last two years I researched the uncertain area of the moment when you don’t have control, when you deliberately give it up, in order to later try to find, to recompose yourself. This implies primarily the fight with an phase of my drawing that was already under the threat of becoming too easy. I was feeling that I have to make a change just to see what is behind the known stuff, which, despite still amusing me, started to become equally tedious. What can you do in such a situation? To change your hand, literally. The refuge in the comfort of the right hand had to stop and make way to a difficult and hard to master path: the priority of the left hand in a world where I happened to be right-handed.

The inner whimp works only with his (mine) primary resources, only what’s already there. With the awkwardness that borders on disability, I discovered that I was beginning to get rid of the acuity that I felt I had enough of, but at the same time, I got rid of all that was defining my drawing until then. The whimp is truthfully romping, he has the detachment I’m looking for, he’s in the in-between.

The series of drawings happened naturally, I kept returning to the impossibility of the left hand and I saw that an archipelago of deformed islands is forming between my so-called ordinary drawings, and the clear and somatic need to give it all up and transfer everything on the left hand (beginning to do that working with the right hand as well), where the rules still belong to me, but to a purer self.

The result is a crude drawing, almost anti-aesthetic, where only the vibration and the inner fun matters, where I like it being so: like a weed. Anyway, since I was a child I liked to walk on the playground with a stick in my hand, regardless of the fact that I was wearing a little dress and I also had those things, strange fruit-shaped hair clips. I’m glad to see nothing really changed. I chose now, at a mature age, to translate this type of wild freedom in the shape of the inner whimp: the little savage hard to accept in normal social conditions, but which is made out of diamond and cannot be defeated.