When I was 5 or 6 years old, I asked my mom why she used to write and draw stuff in a little notebook that I liked to pick up all time and also draw in their pages and destroy her art. I used to pass my time asking myself  “what my mom wants to communicate with this?” And at the same time I use to watch with all my attention her drawings like if they were puzzles, enigmas or treasures. She told me that was her stuff! For her, and she had not intention of show “her stuff” to somebody… Obviously I didn’t understood. For her that notebook was so special that she had to keep it hide to somebody who could understand. But there’s something else, the need of write and draw… There’s not a special reason, not a single one, I think. But we like to do it all the time, It’s our way of being ourselves. I don’t know if I took that from her, like I took from my dad the love for the acoustic guitar,  just that he knows how to play it.

I would like to share with you some of my drawings, just for the pleasure of doing it. Share those momments that I will keep in my memory in the form of a piece of paper. (Maybe it’s another way of get out of reallity…).

I still ask myself, what my mom did with those little notebooks. Where are they?    Read the rest of this entry »