I switched notebooks today. My parents bought me my previous one when they were visiting me in Florida. It had wooden covers and lined pages, which meant it couldn’t be drawn in and it never looked that good gluing cute notes and memories onto the pages. It was just writing, handwriting that started of nice but then lost it somewhere halfway through. The last page is always an important one, and I wrote on it: this was not pretty, just used. It’s sad, but also not sad, with times like that. Not pretty, just used.
the art of slow living,
(I’ve done more than you)
the art of poverty.
(I’ve gone to a hundred different countries to write poetry)
3 Photos from the past week.
(If you fry literally anything at the same time as beets, it turns pink. You can make pink scrambled eggs, it’s great. They used beets to dye fabric back in the day, didn’t they? I keep wondering if it would work on my hair.)
(It’s my friends baby, we didn’t steal it. It’s the cutest baby though, 10/10 would steal.)
(I’m trying to paint some hands and flowers and stuff, but only one hand turned out good, so now I’m trying to restructure everything to focus on that one.)
From sketch to colour.
And a new thing.
I’ve bought a tiny tiny block of watercolor papers that I’m filling up with tiny paintings. I want to make something big soon, but this is easier, for now.
Since the beginning of time, people have chosen their gardens. But you choose by growing it.
(Not some incessant stumbling, but willful action all the way into what will be your resting place.)
The weather is getting cooler and I was walking this evening. I’ve started to walk when I want to listen to new music, so I can hear an album through from beginning to end. On my way back, right as I was walking the last few metres before houses and trees start to close around you, the sun came out from under the clouds. Resting just above the top of the trees while the rest of the sky was still a dark grey. It made stripes of field glow in yellow as the rain kept falling. Weather makes me feel things.
Here’s a completely unrelated picture of a sketch I’m working on right now.
The more you think about something (after you’ve let the ideas bloom and bloom and bloom in your mind), the more you’ll start finding the ways of making it simple again. Here are the thoughts of this summer.
(The Nature of a Lifespan)
Death – When our fear of death is bigger than our fear of God, we worry about our time running out.
Questions – Questions are not made to have eloquent answers, but for us to keep wondering around something, they’re structure for construction, suggest that the theme of life is “ongoing”.
Buildings – The clear and well executed visions are nice buildings, but concepts that contain questions build (keep building) skyscrapers.
Doors – You put a door in a wall, not for the sake of the door being pretty, but to be able to move somewhere else. Doors exist not for themselves, but just lead you to a new place.
Death – Not for itself, it just leads you to a new place.
(Another yesterday’s incorrect thoughts.)
I didn’t blog for a while and then I felt like I should but then I didn’t want to so I didn’t. But then I felt like I should again, so I planned a day to be productive, but then I wasn’t and in the evening I realised that I was so full from work and then trying to rest myself back to me, that I just wanted input before I could pour anything. Now I’m okay. It’s a bit unpredictable, that. I don’t know if that’s professional, but it’s how it is. (I think a lot about professionalism like that, how you should treat creativity as a business if you want it to be. But it’s really not that simple. And you’re allowed to be much more not simple.)
Anyway, I was working a lot, so here’s a selfies from my cabin (like old times on this blog) of late night painting flowers on my hand, and then my current mood after coming home from work.