Rozenman’s ongoing series of drawings constitute a stripped down vision of the self, an analogue to the paintings’ lush reverie of loss. The drawings are wiry renderings of the artist’s inner life, psychologically acute, and by turn painful and poetic. Although they are mere lines filled with and surrounded by looming space, the humans and animals are insistently, uncomfortably present. The figures exist like bare armatures of feelings, attenuated and unadorned except when enhanced by a wash of watercolor.
The figures in the drawings interact with and at times are partially comprised of objects, such as buckets, cages or chairs. They are often partially disembodied – becoming just heads or eyes. Despite these extreme states, the people often convey a feeling of patient bemusement, as if they are at home in the unfamiliar version of reality in which they find themselves. As in the paintings, the beauty that the artist wrests from the displacement and disintegration before us attests to her inclination to both mourn life’s fragility and to savor its cherished memory.