Author, Creator, Dreamer
An idea as small and frail as a grain of barley
The seed of thought is sprouting slowly, unnoticed
Tiny roots stick into the back of my the skull
Under the cover of night they fuse with the spinal cord
They entwine with the ribs and the heart
The vines harden into thick branches
A moment's doubt and already the branches are tearing the muscles, piercing the skin
In time to blossom
Before I open my eyes
I find a grey hair on my pillow
I put it in a wooden box
I gather crumbs
I collect threads
I search for traces of existence,
Evidence of creation
My treasures are nothing to the world
Perspective plays tricks on me, despite my trained eye, I still let myself be fooled.
The image lengthens and shortens, evades every attempt to hold it even for a moment.
The eye of the lens, though so perfect, is also deceived.
The image, like the surface of water, changes
About the drawing
I was close to abandoning this project. I erased every part of the drawing many times. On the other side a relief was created from my repeatedly changed decisions. But the scroll does not allow giving up. I promised myself that I would not cut the roll. That I must outline the entire roll from start to finish. I am at the beginning of my journey and the stairs have already started - here in the literal sense - the roll fell off my table onto the floor and has creased.
Well... it happens:)
Sometimes my dreams are so clear that they grow into a lasting bond with me. They come back. Sometimes in disguise, sometimes impertinent and obvious. Sometimes they are with me all day, sitting on my back crushing my already often sore spine. They are like a veil over my eyes. As if only part of me is present. Where is the rest of me?
Mondays can be the worst and the best in the same time.
I am very found of new beginnings, but hard to shake off weekend state of mind:)
Have a lovely week!
Yours,
Strega Azure
Pictures shot under daylight
