I found a very tiny faux Moleskine in a bucket on the bottom shelf of
a bookcase. It is filled with beautiful, breathtaking, completely
insightful and wildly delicate drawings, words, ideas from late
2007-early 2008.
I was in college then.
I remember these tiny sketchbooks I kept. At the time they were
merely a dumping ground for all the gunk floating around in my brain at
any given moment. A place to purge. Remove. Record. Repeat.
I never suspected I would encounter one years later and be fully swept away by its contents.
It is truly a gem. Anyone who knows me knows this is not a sentiment I reserve for my own makings. I am simply that struck.
Tiny, itty bitty portraits drawn with one of those stupidly fine
Micron pens, ones I would inevitably end up throwing away because I
pushed too hard ONE time and the tip was toast. Face after face of
fleeting, careful moments in the day-to-day existence of a 22-year-old
college student whose life just seemed so. Hard. Always…
Microscopic doodlings of J so delicately exacting the most perfect mark with a razor blade on a sixty pound chunk of stone.
The wiry outline of a Volkswagon sitting across the street from the bus stop I grew to love and loathe.
A crisp rendition of a bottle of Crystal Geyser water perched on the
edge of my workstation, embodying the soul of those moments when I
realized I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Wanting to crawl away
and sleep.
Haiku after ridiculous haiku about nothing at all, like I am a small
child first discovering he has legs, and deeply understanding the power
such knowledge wields.
And writing, too. Poetry, sense impressions, thoughts... I will post a few here, as I'd like to continue enjoying them over and over again, and maybe you will too.
XOXO
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