João Távora

Lisbon | Portugal

A drawing is a mundane and a bizarre thing. It’s mundane because we can find tiny drawings on paper napkins or colossal drawings on the wall of a room, such as those made silently by a dedicated child when we weren’t looking. A drawing can portray a grandiose mythological episode, a trivial burlesque feat, or be but a scribble and represent nothing at all.

Why bizzare? While it’s true that a drawing can portray a story or have some kind of narrative forerunner, it also contains its own time, different from that narrative time. This time is unreasonably vast, even vaster than the time it took to do the drawing: it is a kind of perpetual present. A drawing is a residue, or whatever is left after an assault of mark-making onto a surface, indeed into that surface. No matter the extent of this assault or how polished the drawing looks, the final mark always escapes us, it is the mark of departure.

Snake I, 2020

Dry pastel on paper 70 x 50

Untitled, 2018

colored charcoal, graphite and ribbon on paper 100 x 140 cm

Untitled, 2019

Dry pastel and Charcoal on paper 62 x 40 cm

Untitled, 2020

Dry pastel and charcoal on paper 70 x 50 cm

Snake II, 2020

Dray pastel on paper 70 x 50 cm