[ID: The frame is divided into three sections with three photographs. The Image to the left shows Estefanía wearing a white unitard and mask sitting on a wooden stool, looking at a white board with curvy red and green lines drawn across it. The image to the top-right of the frame shows a hand pointing to a section of the white unitard with skin exposed. The bottom-right image shows a hand with a white glove holding a marker to the white board with curved lines on it.]

Photo by Ada del Pilar Ortiz

Drawing about something felt by Estefanía Rivera Cortés

Image Description

Research and practice of movement goes beyond Dance or the Dance Form. Many artists educated in other branches of art have crossed the lines of their traditional disciplines to play and explore with movement. Estefanía Rivera Cortés embarks in her daily practice of drawing while adding elements of her training in Feldenkrais Method and Alexander Technique. The piece she shares with us is a way of stretching out the limits of these practices. Surpassing dance and drawing to challenge the hyper focus these disciplines have on choreography, performance, shape, lines and/or finished pieces. 

-Nicole Soto Rodríguez, Co-editor


Open notebook, two rectangular inserts on different types of paper, and a pencil sketch on the right page. On a rectangle of blue-gridded paper and green ink in block print:

“I’ve always felt more alive while drawing.”

On a yellow post-it note, affixed with red tape:

“I don’t remember exactly when, but at some point I realized that my drawing practice has turned more about how something felt, than about how something looked like. Suddenly, I was caressing ‘things’ by drawing them.”

The pencil sketch suggests a table and a chair with traces and lines that cover, extend beyond, and obscure the scene.


Open notebook, on the right, a pencil drawing, like a map, with short pricking strokes and longer, more circular designs.

A rectangular insert, affixed with purple tape, reads:

“Drawing for me is a way of reconnecting with myself. You could say it’s a kind of spiritual practice.

A few months ago I went to my mom’s church for the first time, it was my niece’s baptism. I remember the Priest talking about why it was necessary to turn Christianity into a daily practice, how consistency and devotion were the keys to have a real connection with God. He compared it to physical exercise, how you couldn’t expect to become stronger if you only exercised once a week.

In smaller print: I do this thing every time my mom talks about religion where I translate in my head what she’s saying to a more broad sense of spirituality so I can be more empathetic and truly engage in the conversation with her, despite our differences.

Returning to normal size print: So, while I was listening to the priest’s speech all I kept thinking about was my drawing practice and how disconnected I felt with myself whenever I neglected it.”


Notebook lays open revealing a left and right page. The right side has a frenzy of pencil lines, dense in some areas and dispersed and smudged in others. The lines are mostly continuous, curving, and have a ghostly quality.

The left side has red print on red-gridded paper taped into the notebook.

In all capitals, the note reads:


I sit

I drink coffee

I open my sketchbook

I grab a pen

I close my eyes

And I start drawing

I find myself breathing differently, more profoundly. My head starts to oscillate. Toes start moving frantically and my body begins to make small movements as I draw a line.”


Open notebook with two rectangular notes: one on blue-gridded paper taped and the other, a torn piece of yellow paper.

The blue-gridded paper, in all capitals, reads:

“I like to think of them as graphs — Where feelings, thoughts, emotions and sensations get translated into movement and registered through lines.”

In thin orange ink on yellow paper:

“The results always amaze me.

The pleasure and pain of being alive.”

On the right side, a pencil sketch covers the page with faint blobs scattered like clouds and double lines that form shapes that gently suggest grass, a bug, or maybe a shell.


Unruled notebook lays open revealing two rectangles of red-gridded paper with handwritten notes in blue pen. Notes read:


En respuesta a una pulsión”


“Aquí el caos puede existir.

Lo que se desborda, se cae y se riega por todas partes.

Lo que no se puede mesurar ni contender.”

On the right side of the notebook, a faint sketch without clear form, with a shaking quality. Barely visible in the corner: a small rectangle of off-white tape with the word “pulsión.”


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