Whilst narrating in my own mind why I was drawn to a particular artwork, I noticed those musings paralleled the warmth, curiosity and at times, the passion present when writing a love letter. I had planned to share these love letters to an artwork with you from time to time, but as I began to type, I realised something was missing - the letter itself.
Beautiful things can happen when we choose to write longhand. And the idea of having something tangible to keep after this blog was posted, felt right. After all, it mirrors what we do at TORN - alchemising the way in which a physical artwork (or handwritten love letter) is experienced though an online gallery (or blog post).
So, in honouring a slow tenderness, I wrote the first TORN love letter by hand. I was surprised by much of what appeared on the page, and I'm confident it found its way there, at least in part, thanks to the haptic pleasure of putting pen to paper. The love letter is transcribed below.
There is something in your enigmatic, yet hopeful light that draws me to you. You remind me of my mother when she glanced out of the kitchen window in my childhood home and told me rain was coming.
I could never see what she saw, but she was always right.
I watch you now, waiting somehow, for your clouds of smokey blue to shift and reveal the light behind them.
You are not still.
You talk to me of those storms. You do not hide the darkness at your periphery, which only, as in life, makes your swathes of brightness, brighter.
Thank you for reminding me that storms will come, and storms will pass.