Me and books

I grew up in the world, where reading was a kind of standard and books a kind of treasure. We even had to take care of school books, teachers carefully checked their condition at the end of the school year. At that time there was a shortage of many goods, but every small town used to have a public library.

I loved books before I could read them and I remember the heavy bags I regularly carried home from the library. The books and the stories inside were the food I was starving for. I consumed almost everything without prejudice. I often read between the lines and put my own imagination into the written stories, so I used to have different feelings from my classmates who read the same book. And we talked about it! So I became an adult with the belief that reading books is like breathing, everyone does it.

Since then I’ve met a lot of people, even very intelligent ones, who just don’t like to read. It was before the digital boom and much more after. To be honest, it took me a while to accept it and stop judging people by whether they read books or not. And to be double honest, I had to go through the period of prioritizing my career over reading to come to such understanding.

Once I slowed down after 40, I went back to the books. I still read between the lines and often deal with the psychology of the characters more than the story. I love the visions that are born in my head while reading, they are a great source of further inspiration.

Obviously my confession is a little old school, but it fits. How about your attitude to books? There are tons of them and to my surprise even books with major grammatical errors are published! No wonder that books lose their cultural value and become consumer goods and then waste. I am so sorry for it.

With love and hugs,

Ivana

From Hate to Love

As I have already mentioned, drawing is for me a matter of emotions, something between prayer and therapy. The picture above is 5 years old, but its story is still alive and here it is.

Once upon a time I woke up with a strong feeling of hate. There was no reason, I barely opened my eyes from sleep, but the emotion was there and I had a full throat of it. The hate almost choked me up even though it had no specification. It was a pure hate without direction, the feeling itself.

I had no time to think how strange it is or why it’s happening to me. I needed to give it away quickly otherwise that emotion could destroy my whole day. So I took the color pencils into my hand and tried to vomit the hate on the paper.

There was no intention to create a drawing, nothing to say about a beautiful drawing, it was a blind and wild scribble in the beginning. But as time passed, my soul and hand calmed down, and suddenly the first hearts appeared on the paper. It was a 100% automatic drawing, so I watched with surprise what my hand was creating. It took time, but I wanted to be sure that the hate had gone.

I would say that the original scribble is no more visible under waves of beauty and love. But I know how the picture was developed and appreciate the very personal experience that love is really everywhere, even on the bottom of hate.

Ivana