Day Books, the art-as-life of Sharon Frost, one page after another.

Knees front. It's a fibular thing. 29 May, 2012.

5 7/8 x 9 in.; watercolor, ink, whatever, on paper.

Almost always my anatomy drawings are based on or inspired by an injury (my own or someone elses).  It's almost a way of fetishizing my way to a cure.  I started this drawing after my friend Art told me about his partial knee replacement and his wonderfully successful recovery and rehab.  And then of course I started musing on my own injuries and my whacked out fibula.  After an initial injury on the uneven pavement of Buenos Aires  It whacked out more and more.

Like most things in life it got much better over time, after alarming every medical professional who looked at the mess it had become.  I shrank back to my own resources after I was sent to a kindly oncologist who thought his services would not prove necessary (good news I thought).  Self rehab is sometimes, but not always, the best medicine.  Knowing when your private knee should become public is a tricky business.

I'm glad Art put his knee in custody.  I'm glad I took mine back home.

 

Todavía, Todos los fuegos al fuego, Che. 19 Mayo, 2012. (Still All Fires the Fire, Che)

8 1/4 x 10 in. double-page Moleskine cahier spread; watercolor, ink, guoache, whatever, on paper.

4th Avenue, Brooklyn. And Cortázar on Kindle. 

The interactive Spanish-English dictionary makes me feel like I really am reading and I guess I am.  Words like pantanos (bogs) and barro (mud) are accessible and you're tramping with Che and his asthma in the swamp  (ciénaga).

La autopista del sur. 15 mayo, 2012. Brooklyn. (The Southern Thruway)

 

(I'm wanted at the traffic jam, they're saving me a seat.  Leonard Cohen and Julio Cortázar)

8 1/4 x 10 in. double-page Moleskine cahier spread; watercolor, ink, whatever on paper.

Leyendo Cortázar: la linea F es más cómoda que la autopista al sur. 11 mayo, 2012.

(Reading Cortázar: the F train is more comfortable than the Southern Thruway.) Julio Cortázar's short story about being stuck in a traffic jam on the Southern Thruway in France is queasily magical.

6 x 8 in.; watercolor, ink, whatever, on Stillman & Birn paper.

Reaching for traction. 7 May, 2012.

5 7/8 x 9 in.; watercolor, ink, whatever, on paper

This drawing is also featured in Jonathan Fitzgordon's blog.

 

La enfermidad de los sanos. 28 abríl, 2012. (The sickness of the healthy)

6 x 8 in.; watercolor, ink, whatever, on Stillman & Birn paper.

(The sickness of the well.)

La burbuja temporal. 27 abríl, 2012.

8 1/4 x 10 in. double-page  Moleskine cahier spread; watercolor, ink, whatever, on paper.

(The time bubble on the F train.))

In search of the hip. 23 April, 2012.

6 x 8 in.; watercolor, ink, whatever, on Stillman & Birn paper.

The drawing also appears in Johnathan Fitzgordon's blog.

Trabajando en el piso. 18 abríl, 2012. (Working on the floor.)

8 1/2 x 10 in. double-page Moleskine spread; watercolor, ink, whatever, on paper.

(Close to my subject but out of focus, not out of step.)

La luz es como el agua en la linea F en Brooklyn. 13 abril, 2012. (Light is like water.)

(We're all here, navigating the light, in the subway.)

6 x 8 in. double-page spread; watercolor, ink, whatever, on Stillman & Birn paper.

The trip home from 3 hours of Spanish class almost always has my head buzzing between languages. I was reading a Gabriel García Márquez short story on my Kindle.  We had been working with it in class: children with a rowboat, floating on light from a broken lightbulb in the living room: water, like light. Magic images like that can make a lot of sense on the subway.

Estoy ensimismada en las palabras de Cortázar, con Kindle, en Brooklyn. 8 abril, 2012. Lost in the words of Cortázar, with Kindle, en Brooklyn)

6 x 8 in.; watercolor, ink, whatever, on Stillman & Birn paper.

(El Perseguidor, with dictionary, mate and lights.)