On Memories, Drawing, Truth, and David Foster Wallace “What is drawing?” my high school TLE teacher once asked us. “It is the combination of colors,” a classmate answered for the sake of class participation. “It has shadows.” “It depicts nature and life.” “It shows emotions.” He nodded to some by-the-book tries, which sounded novel—not attempts on novelty—to the high-school Jona. I did not know the word “novelty” th.en “But, basically,” he momentarily stopped to build suspense perhaps, “drawing is a combination of lines,” he continued. We wore the look of stupidity.