On a wooden table lies a book, embroiled in a desperate attempt to write its own story. This book, though silent and seemingly calm, exudes an intense desire to bring his words to life. Around the book are four wads of failed stories, like silent witnesses of previous attempts that failed. The wads are scattered around, as if carelessly discarded in moments of frustration and despair.
In her left hand, the book clutches a fifth wad, the paper crumpled by the force of her grip. This action reflects a deep frustration, an expression of her struggle with her own creativity. The wad is a physical evidence of the inner chaos going on in the book, an echo of the many failed starts and aborted sentences.
In her right hand, she holds a marker, its tip resting on a sheet of white paper that already shows signs of struggle. The creases in the paper testify to many moments of doubt and repetition, like scars of the struggle to find the right beginning. On this paper, she has already made a beginning: written in graceful letters is 'Dear Diary', a salutation that suggests hope and possibilities. The words are like a first glimmer of inspiration, an opening to a story waiting to be told.
The scene exudes a mixture of determination and despair. The book seems caught in a moment of creative struggle, driven by the need to finally shape her story. Despite the many failed attempts, there remains a spark of hope, a quiet promise that this time the story might actually begin.
It all started with a4 paper and HB pencils. As a child I was often impressed by how beautiful the world around me was. The urge to capture this beautiful world, and to show the people around me what I saw, was actually there from the beginning. If.. Read more…