Desene

Today, I draw the window. Not the window itself, but the shadow of its frame falling across the empty floor. The shadow has a geometry that the real window lacks: it stretches, it bends at the corner of the wall, it breaks into two tones—one grey, one nearly black. I shade the darker part with the side of the pencil, my fingers turning silver with graphite dust.

There is a specific hour, just before three o'clock, when the light in my room turns golden and shallow. That is when I draw. desene

Outside, the sun shifts. The real shadow begins to crawl toward the wall. But the one I drew stays perfectly still. It will be three o'clock forever in that small rectangle of paper. Today, I draw the window