I am the house poetry built;
I write drawings where line quality is created out of experience, and composition emerges as the woven words of a heart’s beat. Holes of raw-truth appear and disappear through layers of sanded and burnished paper. Graphite is rubbed into every pore until it smiles. Rips are stitched together with threads of prayer.
Fragile and strong,
paper echoes the vulnerability and resilience of the human soul. It slips between the thin spaces in our lives and emerges as beauty out of ash. Today, beyond the ash of torn bits of papers past rises drawing as living beings. Breathing as phoenix in redemption song.
Exquisite stories of texture and shape; anxious and methodical lines of reflection and observation. The pieces move and have their being within the context of their environment.
Paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower