Firstly, thank you to all those lovely people who still follow this little tumblr after the (just checked… SIX!?) months of inactivity… I promise that I am back with a vengeance and shall be posting more little bits and pieces from now on, I have missed it!
In that time I’ve finished my personal website: www.xanderhultgren.com, please check it out! I’ve also been working on an illustration project that I am unable to share online yet, but am very excited about revealing in the near future.
Every time I see a new piece you've made its as if I've taken psychedelics- I'm reminded of the beauty around us, within us, of the existence of tenderness and love, of the mystic roaming spirits I may forget exist, of magic. I'm reminded that though I cannot change the state of reality, I can change the state of my own reality, by creating it myself. You are an inspiration, I would live in the world of your paintings if I could. Thank you for making my day.
Most kind hearted soul -
No, THANK YOU for making my day! I don’t even know what to say - your message has honestly touched me. To be told my work can bring out such feelings in someone is more than I deserve, really. Words have never been my strongest point, so my art has become the means by which I express the thoughts I have trouble explaining - my own little visual poems I suppose; turning the insides out any way I can. It often feels so self indulgent that I’m relieved to hear of others who can relate as well.
I’ve shied away from replying to other people’s messages previously, mainly because I haven’t felt articulate or confident enough to really explain what they’ve meant to me.. the worst excuse! I feel guilty about that and will vow from this day on to try harder! I’m sorry if you are one of them, please know that I am incredibly grateful for each and every one.
“Life passes. The clouds change perpetually over our houses. I do this, do that, and again do this and then that. Meeting and parting, we assemble different forms, make different patterns. But if I do not nail these impressions to the board and out of the many men in me make one; exist here and now and not in streaks and patches, like scattered snow wreaths on far mountains; then I shall fall like snow and be wasted.”—Virginia Woolf,The Waves. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
“It was odd, she thought, how if one was alone, one leant to inanimate things; trees, streams, flowers; felt they expressed one; felt they became one; felt they knew one, in a sense were one; felt an irrational tenderness thus (she looked at that long steady light) as for oneself.”—Virginia Woolf,To The Lighthouse. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)