It was one of those grey days in northern Europe. Was it Germany? Was it the Netherlands? I can’t remember. I only had the remnants of a sketchy impression of people at an outdoor café. The sketch as well as the memory bore enough of a trace to use for a new art work. I crafted the new work using my charcoal pencil making wiry nervous lines around the figures and creating cups, saucers and napkins that may or may not have been there at the original scene. There was an onlooker but I forgot who or what he was and what he wore, only that he perhaps somewhat longingly espied the dining couple - a man looking at a woman who turns away to look at something in a distant woods or on a garden path.
I put glasses and a mustache on the man. I did so because my husband asked me, somewhat jokingly, if I was making a sketch of him. I told him that I was not, but then I added the mustache and glasses - making my reply now untrue. I then used my whites, greys and black pastels to create masses of darkness around the wiry lines. And now it rests in my portfolio with the rest of my revisionist drawings.
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