I have these gorgeous little talismans I’ve collected along my way. Postcards, sentences and headlines I’ve cut out of magazines and newspapers, notebooks of all shapes and sizes filled with pages of words and phrases written neatly in them. Over the years, I’ve compiled droves of manifested resonance that remind me of love or hope or courage or contentment. Mostly, they remind me that I’m not alone. That, somewhere out there, a pair of hands took to the canvas or the paper and made something out of nothing.
Sometimes I try to picture the room the creator sat or stood in while they made that thing that would eventually become part of my collection. I like to imagine what the person wore, whether the sun was shining or if it was cold. I like to conjure up some sort of connection or thread that keeps me tethered to all the makers of the little masterpieces I’ve gathered, and in that way, I have the feeling that it’s not so much that I discovered them but that they somehow found their way to me.
As You Were,