i'm currently in a nyquil induced haze and staying away from anything that makes me lift a wrist. i lost my voice this weekend while i was away near the sea, or rather, my voice is so raspy that my love barely recognized it when i phoned him on my way home. so i give you a quirky kris chau drawing in a notebook that endearingly reminds me of roald dahl's illustrator, quentin blake.
& a jeanette winterson quote that i've been mulling over whilst working on lookbook text (which has morphed into more of an art project than an actual commercial lookbook. more on that ever so soon i promise!)
my work is rooted in silence.
it grows out of deep beds of contemplation, where words, which are living things, can form and re-form into new wholes. what is visible, the finished books, are underpinned by the fertility of uncounted hours. a writer has no use for the clock.
a writer lives in an infinity of days, time without end, ploughed under.
-jeanette winterson from 'art objects'
ps. thanks to leila for the new buttons. i've been trying to do some fall sprucing up around these parts
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