I carried this idea with me for the longest time. When finally the last piece of inspiration fell into place, it felt like I was bleeding the lines on the paper right out of my heart instead of simply drawing them. Once I was done I was exhausted and drained (and rather lightheaded as I once again had forgotten to eat).
But I think I have to take a step back and start at another place – not at the end – to explain these strong reactions. Over the last couple of weeks or months my focus has slightly shifted. I think it is partly due to untimely death, disharmony, pain, but also pregnancy, new bounds and new beginnings in my closer surrounding. While I try to be there for those who need it and be happy for those, who are in luck, the art that spills out of me became even more personal.
Loneliness and pain can be major catalysts, fear to be left behind alone while time is running out. The bride is withering. Or is it the maiden in her grave? Time is such a fickle thing. It put me in a hurry to finish, while it made me first wait forever until it told me how to do it right. Yet, above everything always the question: Is it too late already for my dreams?