Womankind – August 2019

104104

My once-bohemian city is now

pumped so full of tech cash that ev-

eryone walks around terrified: of fail-

ure, of not enough or the wrong kind

of success, of being beat to market by

someone with the same absurd idea.

I’ve never witnessed such a boom

of organised hostility to life. It’s as

though the whole city is standing on

a shrinking ledge while pretending

it’s at the best party ever thrown.

The twisted creatures flowing out of

my finger onto the tablet screen are

like the neck-treading demons lurk-

ing inside every comely young entre-

preneur carting endless confidence

and optimism to the streets. Out,

out, all of you, into the cold light of

day. Let us examine and document

the true shape of you.

Day three: To make drawing

time, I’ve been catching the early bus

downtown and checking into that

Euro-chic coffee chain that makes

you feel as though you’re in some

Benelux airport. I get my espresso,

settle in with my tablet, and start

sketching away while the café fills

up with hot-headed, deal-making

young men. How maddening, as I

ramp up to this sophisticated form

of finger painting, to keep bumping

against technical limitations as I

troubleshoot this or that little func-

tion in vain, all in pursuit of a vision

that seems so straightforward in my

mind. Damn machine!

Day four: My studio apartment

looks out on the northern border of

Golden Gate Park and its magnificent

green-silver stands of cypress pine and

eucalyptus. Now that I’ve learned to

effortlessly delete the last few strokes

I drew, tablet drawing allows me to

repeatedly go after a gesture in my

subject - a burst of energy frozen in a

still line before the eye. This Saturday

morning, I leave the working week

behind me and try to decode the

mystery of my southern view, teasing

out every branch, leaf, and strip

of mottled bark. My world comes

to pieces and yet it’s all still there

for me each day, evolving through

seasons, colours, and the travelling

sun, a shape-shifting curtain of life.

My allotted five minutes for drawing

quickly elapses into two hours.

Day five: Sitting on the café pa-

tio of the Legion of Honor yesterday,

chatting with my friend under the ol-

ive trees, I felt my eye locking on to

the knots of their trunks, the spears

of their leaves, and fought back the

urge to grab the tablet out of my

purse. The members of the natural

world seem these days so much more

full of individual eccentricity than

the clever uprights who perceive

and record it, almost always via the

same type of device. I am no differ-

ent, drawn to the ease of my glow-

ing rectangle and its subtle control

of me even as I grasp for nature. In-

terpreting the trees of Golden Gate

Park has reminded me of the snow

gums of Tasmania, certainly the most

spirited trees I’ve ever seen. I begin

working from a photo taken on the

estate of a friend of mine near the

town of Longley. Without a stylus I

can’t really tackle the twisted, chalky

trunks haunting the base of the hill,

but with a hairline nib (digitally

speaking) and a light touch I almost

capture the crowding of those at the

hilltop. The symbols I draw hundreds

of times per week as a proofreader

now find their way onto the land-

scape as chips of colour: swooping

delete marks, spiky carats, transposi-

tion brackets. For the first time I’ve

drawn something that, while far from

perfect, bears that watermark of righ-

teous weirdness that says I really was

here. I really stood in this place, and

it was so beautiful I needed to make

you stand here too.

WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE Womankind Community

Nadja Cramer

Day one: Goals seem to be the

norm in life. All my life, I trained

myself to set goals and plan path-

ways for achievement. A valuable

habit for a successful corporate ca-

reer. But the more I focused on the

goal, the more meaningless it felt to

me. I took my bravest decision ever

and quit. Now I haven’t got a clue

what to do. I feel so much pressure,

yet I lack energy. The Womankind art

challenge gives me a purpose; why

not have a go? It’s day one and my

eldest is sick at home. I watch him

fold paper aeroplanes, one after the

other, completely in flow. It makes

me happy. I used to love origami, so

I get the book out, flip through the

pages while the colourful patterns

start to inspire me. I’d planned a

peaceful morning to focus on my

first art project. Instead I manage to

squeeze in half an hour between cups

of tea, hot water bottles and a visit

to the GP. My origami butterfly re-

mains unfinished as we rush out the

door. I am frustrated. But I remind

myself: it’s not about the goal.

Day two: I seem to have lost the

ability I had as a child, being totally

engrossed in the practice of my art,

especially dance. So today I practise

the art of belly dance. There is no

audience; no goal to achieve.

Day three: This morning, I wake

up early. I love this time of day. The

104

My once-bohemian city is now
pumped so full of tech cash that ev-
eryone walks around terrified: of fail-
ure, of not enough or the wrong kind
of success, of being beat to market by
someone with the same absurd idea.
I’ve never witnessed such a boom
of organised hostility to life. It’s as
though the whole city is standing on
a shrinking ledge while pretending
it’s at the best party ever thrown.
The twisted creatures flowing out of
my finger onto the tablet screen are
like the neck-treading demons lurk-
ing inside every comely young entre-
preneur carting endless confidence
and optimism to the streets. Out,
out, all of you, into the cold light of
day. Let us examine and document
the true shape of you.
Day three: To make drawing
time, I’ve been catching the early bus
downtown and checking into that
Euro-chic coffee chain that makes
you feel as though you’re in some
Benelux airport. I get my espresso,
settle in with my tablet, and start
sketching away while the café fills
up with hot-headed, deal-making
young men. How maddening, as I
ramp up to this sophisticated form
of finger painting, to keep bumping
against technical limitations as I
troubleshoot this or that little func-
tion in vain, all in pursuit of a vision
that seems so straightforward in my
mind. Damn machine!
Day four: My studio apartment
looks out on the northern border of
Golden Gate Park and its magnificent
green-silver stands of cypress pine and
eucalyptus. Now that I’ve learned to
effortlessly delete the last few strokes
I drew, tablet drawing allows me to
repeatedly go after a gesture in my
subject - a burst of energy frozen in a
still line before the eye. This Saturday
morning, I leave the working week
behind me and try to decode the

mystery of my southern view, teasing

out every branch, leaf, and strip

of mottled bark. My world comes

to pieces and yet it’s all still there

for me each day, evolving through

seasons, colours, and the travelling

sun, a shape-shifting curtain of life.

My allotted five minutes for drawing

quickly elapses into two hours.

Day five: Sitting on the café pa-

tio of the Legion of Honor yesterday,

chatting with my friend under the ol-

ive trees, I felt my eye locking on to

the knots of their trunks, the spears

of their leaves, and fought back the

urge to grab the tablet out of my

purse. The members of the natural

world seem these days so much more

full of individual eccentricity than

the clever uprights who perceive

and record it, almost always via the

same type of device. I am no differ-

ent, drawn to the ease of my glow-

ing rectangle and its subtle control

of me even as I grasp for nature. In-

terpreting the trees of Golden Gate

Park has reminded me of the snow

gums of Tasmania, certainly the most

spirited trees I’ve ever seen. I begin

working from a photo taken on the

estate of a friend of mine near the

town of Longley. Without a stylus I

can’t really tackle the twisted, chalky

trunks haunting the base of the hill,

but with a hairline nib (digitally

speaking) and a light touch I almost

capture the crowding of those at the

hilltop. The symbols I draw hundreds

of times per week as a proofreader

now find their way onto the land-

scape as chips of colour: swooping

delete marks, spiky carats, transposi-

tion brackets. For the first time I’ve

drawn something that, while far from

perfect, bears that watermark of righ-

teous weirdness that says I really was

here. I really stood in this place, and

it was so beautiful I needed to make

you stand here too.

WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE Womankind Community

Nadja Cramer

Day one: Goals seem to be the

norm in life. All my life, I trained

myself to set goals and plan path-

ways for achievement. A valuable

habit for a successful corporate ca-

reer. But the more I focused on the

goal, the more meaningless it felt to

me. I took my bravest decision ever

and quit. Now I haven’t got a clue

what to do. I feel so much pressure,

yet I lack energy. The Womankind art

challenge gives me a purpose; why

not have a go? It’s day one and my

eldest is sick at home. I watch him

fold paper aeroplanes, one after the

other, completely in flow. It makes

me happy. I used to love origami, so

I get the book out, flip through the

pages while the colourful patterns

start to inspire me. I’d planned a

peaceful morning to focus on my

first art project. Instead I manage to

squeeze in half an hour between cups

of tea, hot water bottles and a visit

to the GP. My origami butterfly re-

mains unfinished as we rush out the

door. I am frustrated. But I remind

myself: it’s not about the goal.

Day two: I seem to have lost the

ability I had as a child, being totally

engrossed in the practice of my art,

especially dance. So today I practise

the art of belly dance. There is no

audience; no goal to achieve.

Day three: This morning, I wake

up early. I love this time of day. The