a small army of janitors
I once taught at an old university where blackboards were still in use. Hundreds of chalk drawings appeared and disappeared hourly. It was a pity to see them erased. I tried to photograph them between classes, before a small army of janitors got to them. The drawings described complicated concepts in matter-of-fact ways, without aesthetic pretensions or self-conscious effort. They retained the trace of the hands that drew them, their spontaneous movements, their hesitations, mistakes, erasures and discoveries. In the ephemeral hues of chalky gray I found small and interesting microcosms.