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A place of transitions

A place of transitions

LONG-GONE ARE THE DAYS OF THE SCARY END OF THE WORLD.

Are they not? As the world enters into a new phase with the changing seasons, so do I by shaking the energy up around me… once again.

 

 

I was digging into my "unfinished-work" drawers looking for hidden potential weeks ago when a couple of old paintings caught my eye. I shouldn't even call them paintings, they were compositions of color, line, and word from 10 years ago.

These pieces represented my carefree nature of yore. The naive, experimental self that unpacked every tumultuous turn of her life in thorough, yet cryptic fashion into the paper.

I realized they were key journal entries, and deserved special treatment. They deserved getting preserved like you'd do to a prized possession, a hunting trophy, or any other eccentricity that you'd want to keep trapped, yet alive.

Simple color application in a thick, stiff manner... like cement creating a barrier.

The softness of my handwriting and watercolor layers were now gone.

 

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