The drawing is its own. It’s nothing more than a following of something that already knows what it is. The drawing unfolds exactly how it has planned, and the drawer has little to do with it. The drawer also has everything to do with it.
They grow like weeds of movement and line, sometimes asking for colour. Without us even knowing it, they contain symbols and information.
In the practice of drawing, it’s always unpredictable what unfolds, and the moment of “it’s done" remains poorly defined. Sometimes boredom or fatigue are markers - but they mean little. In truth, they could go on forever.
Drawing is at the root of something only vaguely executed, but infinitely important. It marks a moment of translation from the invisible to the visible, from the imagined to the made, from the unknown to the defined.
Drawing is relentless. Drawing takes no excuse. Drawing is regurgitation. Drawing is the intimate turned on its head.
These drawings are a cumulation of visual knowledge and impression adopted and transformed by the body. In place of an explosive culmination, these drawings in particular, are everything honed inwards - into the tiny. They are akin to rumination. Simple, maybe architectural, often symmetrical, you’ll see. They never occur with precision; their execution doesn’t hold space for roboticism.
They are also a means of research. I am looking at three things:
How do the body's impulses translate into marks on a page? (i.e. drawing as dance)
How do the marks make up the read to who sees them? (i.e. drawing as text)
What is the impact of a mark made (or many marks made) on the heart and body? (i.e. drawing as query)
Julie Gennai is a visual, musical and performative artist living in Victoria, BC. Gravitating particularly to the spaces in between mediums, she is interested in a relation-based making of things (objects, experiences, etc).