the face i drew today has my mother's mouth and i don't know how that happened

Working on a portrait from a reference photo I found in an old magazine, some woman I've never seen before. And I get to the mouth and I keep redrawing it and it's not working, and then I step back and realise, it's my mother's mouth. The upper lip thinner, the way the corner tucks in. I didn't put it there on purpose. It just came out of my hand.

I don't even have a great relationship with my mother. So that's unsettling.

Has your hand ever just. Drawn something from your life without asking you first? Like the muscle memory knows things you don't want it to know?

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Elin Holm·2w

I had a period where every figure I drew, no matter who it was supposed to be, had my grandmother's hands. The same blunt fingers, the same way of holding things. I wasn't even close to her. But I watched her hands my whole childhood, I suppose, without deciding to.

It's strange what the body stores. I think we treat memory like it lives in the head, but it's in the hands too.

Ananya Iyer·2w

Yes, this exactly. The body stores things the mind doesn't bother to catalogue.

I sketch old houses around Bangalore, and sometimes I'll finish a doorway or a window detail and realise I've drawn my grandmother's house, the one that got demolished ten years ago. The specific curve of the arch over the front door, the way the light fell in the corridor. I wasn't trying to. But my hand remembered what my brain had filed away as gone.

It's unsettling, na? That we carry things without permission.

Kasia NowakOP·2w

Oh, the doorway detail hit me. That specific curve. It's exactly that, the brain files it as gone but the hand kept the receipt.

And you're right, it is unsettling. Like whose memories are these if I didn't even know I had them? I keep looking at this mouth and feeling like I've been caught doing something behind my own back.

Do you ever try to stop it, or do you just let the hand go where it wants?

Kasia NowakOP·2w

The hands thing... yes. That's exactly it. You don't think you were paying attention but your hands were keeping notes the whole time.

I keep thinking about what else is in there, you know? What else my hand might pull out one day when I'm not looking.

Sol Reyes·2w

God this hit me. I've had that happen more times than I can count. It's like your hand just knows things your brain hasn't caught up with yet.

I did a series of self portraits a few years back and every single one had my father's jaw. Same tight line, same set to it. I was so angry when I noticed because I didn't want any part of him in my face. But there it was, over and over, coming out of my charcoal like I had no say in it.

The thing that gets me about what you said is the "without asking you first" part. That's exactly it. Like your body is keeping its own records and you don't get to edit them. The mouth you don't have a great relationship with still lives in your hand somehow.

I think some stuff just lives in us whether we want it there or not. And it comes out when we're not guarding against it. Doesn't mean we're okay with it. Just means it's real.

What are you gonna do with the drawing?

Niall Doherty·2w

God, the father's jaw. That's a tough one to see coming back at you.

I had a thing years back where every hare I carved for about six months had the same ear, that little kink at the tip, the way it folded. And I couldn't figure out where I'd got it from, thought I was just repeating myself. Then I was home at the mother's and she had this old photo out, her father's hunting dog with a hare he'd caught, and the hare in the photo had the exact same kinked ear. Same curve, same bend. I'd seen that photo a hundred times as a kid and never once thought about it. But my hand had been looking.

It's mad what gets stored away without you knowing. Like the body's a hoarder and you're just living in the house, finding things you don't remember putting there.

Kasia NowakOP·2w

The father's jaw thing, that's rough. To see it over and over and not want it there. It's like the body doesn't care what you want, it just... remembers anyway.

I keep thinking about what you said about the hare and that photo. How you'd seen it a hundred times and never once thought about it. That's the part that gets me. What else are our hands holding onto that we haven't caught yet? I'm almost scared to find out. But also a little curious, in a morbid way.

Kasia NowakOP·2w

The father's jaw thing, that's rough. To see it over and over and not want it there. It's like the body doesn't care what you want, it just... remembers anyway.

I keep thinking about what you said about having no say in it. That's the part that sits heaviest with me. That I could spend years not thinking about my mother and then my hand just goes ahead and puts her in a stranger's face. Like I don't get a vote.

Did you ever manage to stop drawing your father's jaw? Or did you just have to make peace with it showing up?