Pencil, Charcoal, brown paper

Sometimes you just look at someone and you know how hateful they feel, how unhappy they are, and how angry they are because they haven’t the tools to find a better place to be inside their life and head.  This girl just looked so fragmented, unhappy, but edgy, I tried to sneakily do a sketch of her.  I make up several stories about her and decide her name is Miriah.   I didn’t speak to her, I knew she wouldn’t want to hear what I had to say, my own daughters certainly never appreciated my opinions when they were that age.  I smiled at her, I encouraged her with my body language.  She sat there a long while and allowed me to quickly sketch her, and I know she knew I was doing it.  I thought she had an interesting face, and a vulnerable face.  She left before I could finish, but its one of those drawings you save because there was a certain connection that transpired.  It’s all we can ask for sometimes – that brief almost non-existent connection between two people who look into each other’s eyes and everything is said in the splitting of a second.