Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Two years ago I was walking across the car park opposite my parents house when I found an outstretched decapitated wing much like Durer's rendition above. It was so strange. Where had it come from? And why was there just a wing? What happened to the poor bird? 

Durer has never failed to amaze me with his attention to detail, something I am entirely incapable of due to my lack of patience. To be precise is one thing, Durer also depicted what he saw with emotion. He favoured neither the beautiful or ugly. Anything that was honest was worthy of depiction. His drawing of his mother, above, is one of his best. While she is clearly ugly, old and tired she has been drawn truthfully and with love and adoration without shying away from how harsh her life had been. When I first saw her I was repulsed. Like most good things, she's grown on me. 

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