Random’s Not Random
When I’m drawing these seemingly random shapes and connections, I feel like my mind is going through an accelerated evolutionary period and I am encapsulating the root of what makes us tick. When I was little I used to think that the stars floated randomly in the sky. Although I still look up and think how pretty they are (on those lucky nights when I do spot a star), I know it’s far more complicated than that, that stars have coordinates, and names, and that they are now dead as I’m looking at them.
As a child, I was so disappointed upon realization that the polkadots on dresses were actually quite regimented. It not only frustrated me that they weren’t just random dots that some fabric machine haphazardly shot onto the material, but that I couldn’t decide which was the first dot to have been laid down. But I guess orderly polkadots come with an increasingly cut-rate fashion industry.
Life isn’t neat, and accidents (lucky or unfortunate) do happen. Without them we are stagnant, lifeless and frankly, boring. I love a spill, a rip or when my pen slowly runs out of ink and I’m keen on moving on. It’s not just apples falling on heads that inspire invention.