It’s hard to shake the influence travel has had on me. For a long time now, I have felt like I don’t belong back here, that home is somewhere over there.
My art tells stories of my time in Europe. My morning coffee is always sitting in a cafe in Rue Richer, not here. I’ve entertained ideas of living under Pont Neuf, and dining from the best wheely bins at the back of the Buddha Bar. I walk the surreal coast of Cadaques with Dali and marvel at the cubed trees of Montpellier, and fiery pencil pines of Vincent’s world.
Crescent moons and full moons get me dreaming. I see them in the sky back here, and realise they are soon to illuminate the far off places that I dream about. Effortlessly, they defy distance.
These are the landscapes of my creative wanderings. I just know that I am meant to be there.