There's a question I'm asked, where each and every word almost silences me forever: "what did you think of when you designed the collection and what were your inspirations?" So that I won't remain speechless, I found a permanent deflecting answer: the deadline.
On Tuesday, when I knew that I had to write something on Wednesday morning, I suggested that maybe once and for all I'll write of inspiration, and immediately changed my mind. So once again the deadline dictated everything (how could it be that I never realized that the word deadline is composed of death and a line??)
So I went to the beach and tried to think of nothing.
I also tried to compose the endless words, sights, thoughts and sounds into one coherent thought. I tried instead of focusing (I'm always being told to try and focus) to keep the center clear and blur the edges. It's kind of like turning off another streetlight, and then another, until the only thing that is lit is what you wish you could see the most.
I was thinking that everyone has his or her own path, and my path is not always a subject, place, or someone, but a moment in time wherein the storm of thoughts, of subjects, people, places, dreams and hopes are formulated into one simple clear thought that was placed pretty close by, and managed to excavate itself and stand in front of me, solid and conclusive.
There's something to be said in favor of deadlines…
Have a great weekend,