Diary 2025 -
A diary made of daily drawings—gestural, lyrical, neo-abstract expressions—is an act that balances on the edge of meaning and its absence. It is a ritual of returning, not to discover truths but to enact them, not to impose sense but to embrace the tension between sense and nonsense.
Each entry is a gesture, a loop, a return to the figure eight. This form, evocative of infinity and the organic rhythms of life, could be seen as meaningful. But perhaps its greatest power lies in its refusal to be fixed. Like nature itself—unpredictable, chaotic, alive—the figure eight carries no ultimate truth. It simply is. The diary mirrors this: a landscape where the marks on the page don’t demand understanding but invite witnessing.
The daily practice gives shape to time. The diary’s pages become a field where thoughts, emotions, and impulses take form. And yet, this field is not a space for grand revelations. It is a space for the act of creation itself: the unthinking gesture, the playful mark, the meditative loop of motion. In this way, the diary is both deeply meaningful and utterly meaningless, containing both impulses without contradiction.
The ritual of drawing daily is like tending to a garden—not a garden of plants or flowers, but a garden of movement and abstraction. Each stroke is a sprout, a reaching, a turning. The act of drawing is its own kind of nature: not the ordered beauty of landscapes, but the messy, lyrical vitality of life itself. It is a nature that doesn’t pretend to know why it exists; it simply thrives in its own becoming.
In this practice, meaning becomes fluid, like water or air. It arises, dissolves, and arises again. Some drawings might resonate deeply, others might feel like nonsense. But together, they form a continuum—a diary that doesn’t need to explain itself, only to exist. And in that existence, the paradox unfolds: the diary is meaningful because it embraces nonsense, it is profound because it refuses profundity.
This is not a surrender but a freedom. The diary is a space where gestures live, where marks breathe, where the figure eight loops endlessly—not as a symbol, but as a living act. It is life captured in motion, freed from the weight of meaning, yet carrying all the beauty of what it means to simply be.