Diary
03AUG
The city never stops moving below, but up here there's a pocket of quiet. I've sketched every set I've worked this year — hundreds of pages now — and tonight I'm just standing in the gap between. The sodium lights bleed orange into the dark. My hands are cold. The sketchbook is half-full and I'm not ready to close it yet.
Mood: Contemplative, still, restful
16JUL
I stayed after everyone left. The rooftop was still warm from the day, even in November. I drew the light first — how it fell across the barrier where I sat — then the shape of the shadow my own body made. Some sets I forget the minute they end. This one I wanted to keep. The pencil is the only thing that slows me down.
Mood: Restless, focused, quietly present — the restlessness channeled into the page, the focus soft and inward, that stormfront quality of a woman who carries weather inside her.
15JUL
The city breathes below and I trace its edges in graphite — every set I work becomes a page, a record of where I stood. Tonight the sodium light bleeds through the chain-link and I am still for a moment, between the frame and the making of it. These are the minutes that belong only to me.
Mood: contemplative