Ask my husband, he couldn't figure out why in the midst of France I was taking photos of old walls but the thing that drew me to taking snapshots of walls over selfies in front of tourist buildings was the mystery, that potential story.
What is the history here?
When do these bricks, that paint date back to?
How many years, hands and eyes have been laid here?
What you see is somehow not what you get.
In many ways I see myself in the same sense as a ever evolving textured wall. I too am made up of years of wear and tear, of scraps and chips but all together in the end, I make up something unique because of it and so do you. I wouldn't be true without the layers of life I've had to live through. Weathering through the storms, touch ups and graffiti are all me. Sometimes I wish I could do demolition on myself, completely start over and live as a fully remodeled self while simultaneously forgetting my originality and where I started from. It's only just now, at 27 going on 28, that I'm learning to let myself live on. Each struggle I face, every victory thats made, translates to another layer, another coat of paint showing my progression.
I want to be everything I've ever been and continue to be. Do you? I've made many mistakes and gone down roads wrongly but when people get to know me, I want them to know everything that makes me, me.
They say only time will tell but I think time builds texture and texture tells the truth.
Face value is shallow but those layers beneath, they are primitive and primitively priceless. ||