These drawings come to me out of dreams, like a breeze where you're walking and you catch a particular move of a tree, a whiff of rosemary or the glint of sun on the eyeglasses of the man behind the window.
There's no "here's what I will draw" moment. I just pick up the pen and go. Trees, men's bodies, or costumes often open the show. They feel like theatre because I play music when I draw, to close the mind's door. This is my spirit's time, for loving, for memory to create sets of a fairytale Russia where once my Grandfather conducted music.
I got into drawings to drift, to journey, to feel the embrace of a body, to dance and to be intimate, like making costumes for my puppets long ago. Now, at this time, I'm guessing, since we are alone, it is like being a child; here I am, I have my pen, my pencils. No one is around. There are no rules. No assignments. I can just draw. And no one will say what? or why? No one will know.
--Jill Schary Robinson
Called "the Walt Whitman of Sunset Boulevard" by New Yorker critic John Lahr, JILL SCHARY ROBINSON is a celebrated memoirist and novelist whose books include Bed/Time/Story, Perdido, and Past Forgetting. She has written for the New York Times, Vogue, Vanity Fair, the Telegraph, and countless others. She was a member of the Fulbright Commission in London and today she runs the Wimpole Street Writers group in Los Angeles and London.