There's a purity about putting something on paper...writing, painting, smudging, creating. There's an essence about the person, thoughts and loveliness that remains for others to enjoy....for years to come... I thought about this intimacy while I was visiting Voltaire's home in Geneva to Anne Frank's diary entries showcased in Amsterdam...or a friends well wishes in a birthday card....and a lovers' deep intuition and appreciation from a Valentine...
To me, it's the imperfect, lines, textures, scribbles, scratches, thoughts that begin to tell you the story of a person...the emotion...captured through something tangible....something visual..
Choatic beauty
Half of the magnificence is from the process itself, the chaotic thoughts that form from anywhere and everywhere....the events of the day...the fleeting emotion of the moment...
This is something that cannot be captured through an organized, pedicured list...or filed in an alphabetical Rolodex...it happens through inspiration and from a special part of your heart...
It's mailable. It forms and reforms and iterates until it is perfect. Perfectly imperfect...touching...authentic