Random’s Not Random

a life molecule: i usually start off these pages in an orderly fashion and a consistent pattern. after a while, ennui sets in and i automatically shift to a less organized structure. the base-in this case the circles-is still quite linear, like polka-dots on a dress. soon, however, the paradigm shifts a little and i allow for a bit of deviation. but after all the natural course it takes, is it truly random anymore?

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.

for someone who's not the biggest polkadot fan, I do a lot of polkadotting. this spread is from one of my diaries. the girl in the polkadot skirt recurs throughout, always with one wayward polkadot

when i draw or paint, i like to capture the randomness of life, of things. if i am painting a group portrait, there will be one girl or boy who is slightly cut out of the photo (i refer to some of my paintings as photographs because i think of myself capturing a moment rather than creating one). when i draw my patterns I usually begin with an order that turns a little chaotic, but i also like to eventually control that chaos

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.