Wednesday, January 9, 2013

The Sensuality and Destroy-ability of Paper

In organizing some files this new year, I've come across some never-published writings of mine.  The following is an essay written in 2010, along with a drawing from around the same time.  I can certainly appreciate the irony of electronically disseminating this manifesto of sorts...


My life is made of paper.

During the day I coordinate documents for a manufacturing company, making endless changes to their product specifications, based upon requests from the various departments which use them. For example, to make a tube of lipstick, there’s a formula of ingredients, the details of how they're mixed together, the list of plastic parts the lipstick is cased in, the exact dimensions of everything, what the label needs to read and look like, and so on. Most of the work I do now is electronic, unlike my earlier working days of physical filing, typing, and mailing in the 90’s and early 00’s.  But I still print out hard copies to proofread and keep as backup. Sometimes technology can be unreliable. 

During the night I draw. I lay down a ground of light willow charcoal on slightly rough paper. Then, using a charcoal pencil, I coax forms and lines out of the gray mist. When the model and the mood are just right, I can get to that place of deep focus, where I see the lines on the paper before I draw them. Nudes and portraits are my specialty. I used to paint more, but now it seems I only draw. The sound and feel of the paper, the way I lose track of time, the challenge of depiction, they’re all quite satisfying. 

But paper is also heavy with responsibility. All the hours of the past years spent filing, typing, printing, mailing, and faxing, it’s fed and clothed and housed me. All the drawings I’ve brought into being, the vases and fruit and the curving shoulders and tilted heads, need preservation or destroying (the early bad ones). When I think about those aspects of paper, it seems too cumbersome. 

Sometimes I want to be free and light, all spirit and no body to maintain. But all idea and no physical manifestation is frustrating. So I continue with paper, which is how I prove my existence, how I make my life.

It often feels like progress has a grudge, and is perpetually trying to trample the ways of the past, at times succeeding. I think, however, that paper will survive. After all, no intermediary device is necessary to consume visual information on paper, only eyes. If no words are involved, knowledge of language or technology is not required to understand what's being communicated. And it doesn’t tax the memory, because one doesn’t need to remember it, it’s right there, in all its physicality. It can be touched, put it in the pocket or on the wall. It can be burned, with a fair amount of confidence that if it‘s the only one, it's gone, never to be seen in the future. Words and pictures on the internet can disappear or persist, to equal chagrin. Both idle communication and business communication have already fled paper to exist on computers and the internet. As such, paper is now becoming the domain of the special, the treasured, the unique.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Exhibiting at Epic Emporium now through January 3, 2012:

A Quiet Fire 

A collection of charcoal drawings by Danielle Walsh, containing softly sexy female portraits rendered in an impressionist style.  All pieces were completed from the sitting of live models - captured with gestural pencil strokes, their personalities coming through in the tilt of their head, curve of shoulder, and smoky gaze. 


Artist Statement

The use of charcoal to depict the human form subtly invokes thoughts of fire, from the charcoal itself, which is formed from the heating of trees, to the flammable paper it’s placed upon, to the human figure, which takes on a quietly seductive quality, bringing to mind the fire of human desires.

Creativity, often described as a “spark”, is both psychological and physical process, with many factors affecting the outcome.  Upon discovering I would be moving to my current larger studio space, located in the middle of a diverse and supportive artists’ community, I was inspired to write the following poem. 

Four Fifty-One

Each night I arrive home and fold myself up to enter
storing my dreams on a shelf with dim lighting

I have been a potato-eater these long years
surrounded by charcoal thoughts on rough paper
always cold around the edges

Soon I will unfold and lay myself out
on the wooden floors where the light will blow across me
I will be infused with color and sound and purpose

Each night I will become more alive
my core will ignite, burning onto the paper

Artist Bio

Danielle Walsh has an Associate’s Degree from GRCC, where she studied studio art and art history.  The artists who influenced her drawing include Edgar Degas, Dominique Ingres, and Egon Schiele.  She has exhibited in GRCC Collins Art Gallery, Hollowell Art, Wealthy Theatre, Bear Manor Properties, and West Michigan Center for Arts and Technology.

Danielle’s live/work space, figurista, is located on the Avenue for the Arts in the Heartside neighborhood of Grand Rapids.  Once a month, fellow artists come together to sketch from a model during the drawing sessions she organizes and holds in the space. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


The first three pieces in this new series were exhibited in Grand Rapids, Michigan at ArtPeers Fall Festival (in Bear Manor Properties) on September 17, 2011.  These 14” x 17” charcoal drawings, set in white frames decorated with synthetic fur and roses, are representations of sensuality within the context of Victorian decoration.  Light, darkness, sex, repression, femininity, and mortality are words which were kept in mind while creating these works.
Update 12/13/11:  After much deliberation, I have removed the spider imagery from the first drawing.