Love.

view from my kitchen while living in italy,
so simple yet so pleasingly warm and beautiful.

I love making things with my hands. I love things made by a persons hand and heart. I love handwritings, things hand drawn, hand sewn, the use of pencils, paintbrushes, ink, anything i can touch and feel and smell. The idea of tearing, the sound that comes from it, or the scratchy sound from the calligraphy pen, the shavings of pencils, changing of water every time you paint.

There is the beauty of it, and somehow i feel that whatever you do with the hands somehow links to the heart. What if i was writing this with my hands instead of typing, on paper made from trees, of ink that stains the white sheets and communicate to you , each stroke, the pressure , width, size of my handwriting perhaps revealing more about me than this times new romans could.

Somehow i believe that everyone should get into using their hands to make something. anything. Just getting back in touch with things imperfect. away from uniform, perfection and the cold hard flat surfaces of things now.

When i look at something totally digitally created, i just don't call it art. Furthermore, it doesn't give the warm feeling of passion and love. it just gives a cold feel of perfection and ease.

I remember my time living in Italy that reminds me of how beautiful it is, and things can be if we just spend more time on things, have a little bit more pride with what we make. To be passionate about things. The italians almost all of them are makers of something, having their own grape, lemon or olive farm hence making their own wine, lemoncello and olive oil. The beauty of things home made. The way the pick their colors, the way they design, how they made things of quality, they start right from the ground. Producing the best crops to have the best finishing product.

Oh the beauty that comes with the dedication of time and heart and hands.