j linden

The painter never drank before he started working with blood. he never considered it, not seriously. It was ones breath when he whispered things he didn't mean. It was something that happened to people who lost themselves. But the canvas demanded it. At first, it was just whiskey, a neat pour beside the easel, the amber liquid catching the studio's dim light. he convinced himself it was for the process, for the ritual, the way old alchemists used mercury to transmute lead into gold....

Some loves don’t live inside time.They move beneath it quiet, patient, endless like whales drifting through centuries of tides. Even when the surface forgets their names, the deep remembers. This drawing began as nothing more than motion two whales, a slow circle forming in the stillness of my studio.But the longer I worked, the more it felt like something familiar ,something that had always existed, waiting to return in a new form. They came alive as two souls, swimming toward one another...

There are loves you stumble upon like seashells delicate, unexpected, easily held in your hand. They are beautiful, yes, but they are...