in court i often have downtime. this is when i drift into sketching. it is a perfect location, stained and straining with human experience, grief, and lives colliding. i usually sit up front with the judge so that i face the "clients," some in prostrated attentiveness as if the rows of cold benches were pews and the judge their revered priest, some in stony, silent indifference, and the worst, rowdy nonbelievers who muttered and whispered their discontent under the bailiffs' watchful eyes.
yet they were all united by their setting, a human circus of drugs, abuse, poverty, and violence. often i would sneak among them, more comfortable to sit in the chaos than pretend i was above it. i was in domestic violence court when i chanced upon the person i drew above. he slept through the entire proceeding. at the end when the judge asked him to come up, this conversation followed:
judge: why were you asleep?
man: sorry sir, i was very tired today.
judge: why were you so tired?
man: i had to wake up at 5 today to get to court, sir.
judge: do you live far away?
man: no sir. i actually moved houses yesterday. over the weekend, i got shot.
.
.
.
judge:......are you fine?
man: yes sir. just tired.
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