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Show 87 arch stood out nicely and he was able to use a good deal of chalk where it curved under the eye and formed a sharp relief to the hollow of the cheek directly beneath it, where the greys deepened until it was unclear where the shadow ended and the tangle of beard began. The forehead looked glazed with sweat, and the hair clawed carelessly over it looked damp and matted. In terms of design the contrasts were perhaps exaggerated, breaking the surface into a patchwork of blacks and whites whose shapes from across the room verged on the arbitrary, and the face on the paper was both thinner and longer than the face in the mirror and appeared to have a slight boomerang warp to it, but on the whole Lorin didn't half mind that face. It was not the same face other people saw when they looked at him walking down corridors or sitting hunched over a sandwich on the patio of the art building. It was a face conscious of itself being observed, a private and subjective face. A face with an intuitive authenticity to it. He carried it over to Yoram's bed, in which Yoram lay asleep with his mouth open and an arm flung over his eyes, and tilted it against the wall between him and the edge of the bed. He turned the light onto it and stepped back into the bathroom to look at it. It was not going to be the same drawing when he came back up from the dishroom in a couple of hours, and he wanted a detailed impression to carry with him until then. The eyes, from this distance, didn't please him as much. They were too small for the length the face had grown to, and the left one was out of alignment with the right one. A highlight that he had carefully chalked in on the mustache had become a stretch of bare lip shining through a gap in the bristles. Something he hadn't noticed before was that the neck, which he had just sketched in with a few lines and shaded with a sweep or two of the flat edge of the charcoal to suggest contour, besides being too skinny sat too far forward |
