thing with feathers

last sunday's walk, brilliant underpass ☻ {ninove}
last week i reminisced on my teenage summers abroad, and if i wondered at all who toted the camera to shoot holiday snaps i am holding in my hand below, then i must admit it was yours truly. 

straight from the seventies, in my hand
my mum wasn't interested, nor was my dad, so. except for the ones i am in, obviously. this notion led me on towards suspecting all i've got left of two years of spanish costa is just 24+ images... 

brussels, already dreaming of paris pavement moments.... {brussels, office 'hood}
then i realised that indeed that's all we got from a camera roll back then, some 24+ images, good and bad and ugly. my parents allowed us just the one film roll per summer, that was it. 

have yet to look up graffiti artist's name, has 'done' a few buildings' sides {brussels, office 'hood}
those analog, light sensitive film rolls though? the impatient waiting for development and the painful disappointment of images coming out blurry, over or under exposed, plain silly compositions and total fails... 

l o v e. you notice? {brussels, office 'hood}
i cosset those faded charms however, depicting spur of the moment subjects. i googled most buildings back into significant existence, easing my spring journey-to-be into a gentle whirlpool of emotions. 

can't hardly wait. in the meantime, have a beautiful weekend. ♥

seventy five nights only

i booked myself a little holiday last week. OMG. i really did. i had set out to go to london, and ended up in spain instead! here's how that came about: south of the border is no go for me in summer temperatures. 

so, if i wanted to escape the grey skies, then i'd better take up the chance to travel south right now, ahead of the summer heat. and hopla! my heart needs nostalgia and will find it, most surely, in the province of valencia, 

where my 12-year-old-self first started making pictures, besides splashing face down into the surf of the balearic sea to find refreshment for those sunny, yet pebbly beaches. some pebbles were rocks too. ☻

pulse, pulse, pulse, SO excited to soon be city hopping and sketching, photographing and market strolling, eating and drinking, reading and doing absolutely zilch, all while paring down my speech even, to the likes of si y no y p̶r̶e̶g̶o por favor. because, sagrada família mia!, i speak even less spanish than i do italian... . 

have a good week ahead. keep dreaming too... 


{images shown above are drawings 
of 'buildings lost' in the town i live in, 
all published in a local heritage magazine}


see no evil. do no wrong. don't lie. love your idioms

are you a liar? i am. i lie about many things. i fool myself, make myself believe. i've grown up a liar and i want to lie no more. 

i opened up an etsy shop in november last year. and that was a lie. bear with me, because i don't feel bad about saying that. the truth of the fact is, that shop was a lie. i didn't commit. 

what you don't commit to while doing it feels like submitting to the lies you have put up for yourself. sounds ominous, it is. at least, i am leaving the lie behind me. no more commerce, just feel

... and 'write' my story. grabbing my journals, using my pen, stroking my colours, kissing my palletes. wow. load of my shoulders. now let's begin. are you curious? so am i. 

let me see..... enjoy the weekend and next week? have a good one! ♥

once more. with feeling

the habit of writing thus for my own eye only is good practice. it loosens the ligaments.
never mind the misses and the stumbles. - virginia woolf
it's unmistakably that time of the year when resolutions are being made, and i am no exception to that regimen. i stand staring at my diaries store cupboard. here we find ourselves. once more. 
an intimate diary is interesting especially when it records the awakening of ideas; - andré gide

in my quest to free up studio space, i want to rid myself of the past. one hunded and thirty notebooks, of which eighty+ are handwritten diaries. how to go about ripping them? 
the good writer seems to be writing about himself, but has his eye always on that thread of the universe
which runs through himself and all things. - ralph waldo emerson

a garden firepit will create more CO2 than i care for in already polluted air. papershred the volumes might kill a shredder or two (or more). scanning pages first is a no go. i've stranded repeatedly at volume 1.
i am taking up my journal again after a long break. i think it may be a way of calming this nervous excitement
that has been worrying me for so long. - eugène delacroix
so i'm still standing, growing an extra foot, and thinking, i need to do something, and it needs to be funny. it needs to involve fun. and what it also needs is air. air to breathe, and stuff to share. 
even one task fulfilled at regular intervals in a man’s life can bring order into his life as a whole;
everything else hinges upon it. - eugène delacroix
yes. involve you, dear reader, in some way, by sharing with you a biography of sorts. that would be my contribution to this end-of-another-year's resolutions. {and it'll keep me going a few years, undoubtedly.}

♥ have a beautiful new, first week of a pristine new year. ♥

and so the journey begins

i remember a path in the village i grew up in. in any season, the lane lead me to fantasy, to day dreaming and to inner peace, by the time i walked back home. over youth, i made that path mine. 

the walkway lay very uneven, since tractors used it, as did dog lovers, mountain bikers and attentive walkers. but somehow i hardly ever crossed anyone when i walked it, each of us chosing our moments well. 

where i live now, there's paths like that. some are familar and well trodden, others i can't find back for the life of me. seasons colour in landscapes beyond recognition sometimes. but i kind of love that aspect.

paths, of course, stand witness to different meanings. it's good to find yourself on a straight path, although curly wurly ones offer fantastic scenery. it's good to stay on a path, but often alluring beauty lies on side trails. 

i like dirty paths too, and soft mushy earth your boots sink into, given you are wearing the proper gear to get sucked in by brown muck. it's all so alive this freshness, especially in winter. winter makes me feel humble. 

and humble leads me to tradition, don't ask me how. don't ask me why. i pull from my library sarah ban breathnach's TRADITIONS and hope to find solace on these dark winter days. merry christmas. ♥ 
{all images from recent walk in idegem, geraardsbergen}