Ink
I’m in love with stationery and sentimentality. When I combine both of these things, with the added element of subconscious flow or mindlessness, compositions such as these tend to appear. I’m using a Pilot Kaküno fountain pen to A. Replace my lost, charcoal Lamy Safari I purchased for my thirtieth birthday in London and B. Because it’s an amazing and customizable tool. When I pair this with water and a brush I start to become familiar with the things I’m seeing on the paper. Everything starts to feel familiar with every stroke of the brush, tracing lines and watching ink and memories spread from one point to another.
“But what is memory if not the language of feeling, a dictionary of faces and days and smells which repeat themselves like the verbs and adjectives in a speech, sneaking in behind the thing itself, into the pure present, making us sad or teaching us vicariously...”
These drawings and paintings are windows into my subconscious. Most of the time they reveal and they reflect. Lately they have become maps to points along my history that bring me into direct connection with not only my ancestors and family who have left, but also past versions of myself who may be awaiting answers only I can provide now.