I have a habit of making up a story for every drawing that I do. When I was younger, I would create worlds around the girl in the drawing. Sometimes there would be a whole series of drawings around that one imaginary girl. And by the end of it, she wasn't imaginary to me anymore... she would become so real. I'd feel as if there must be a girl somewhere in the world with a story just like hers. I still do feel that way about my paintings. They are each so very real to me, created out of a feeling so very tangible.
This is Marie. For some reason, she reminds me of those girls I used to draw when I was little. I feel instinctively as though one painting is not enough for her.
After each morning run, we would come home and raid the mango tree. He'd tug them down, and I'd collect them, clasp against my damp chest, each one edible gold. For two weeks, it was like this: we'd sit in perfectly full silence, savouring our morning mangoes. Now the tree is still, gathering sunlight, flowering quietly. Looking forward to more mango mornings.