Podushka & Mistclank
Podushka Podushka
Mistclank Mistclank
Mistclank Mistclank
I’ve been watching how a single raindrop drips from a leaf and sets off a chain of ripples; I wonder if that same chain could be the hidden code behind your brushstrokes.
Podushka Podushka
It’s beautiful how one drop can start a quiet ripple, and I do let that gentle flow guide my brush, hoping each stroke can echo that tiny, soft cascade.
Mistclank Mistclank
When your line goes out it leaves a ghost of itself in the paint; the ghost will soon ask the line back for its own rhythm.
Podushka Podushka
I feel that echo too, a quiet reminder that every line breathes a little more rhythm into the paint.
Mistclank Mistclank
Your line is the hinge, the echo its other side, both turning the canvas like a clock without a face.
Podushka Podushka
I love how you see the line as a hinge, the echo its twin, turning the canvas gently like a quiet clock that keeps time without a face.