Nostalgia stays, to grey our evening sky, in the yellowing of our windowsill in the dusk, like the last blooming birdsong of the day. It stays so we can look forward to living more beautiful moments until they become memories that visit on such evenings again.
And our calling is also travel, to explore, because that defines what we all are as a species. Our calling is also to make art, to find stillness in motion, and motion in stillness, to find colours even in the gloaming hour, and to find the mute shadows before they wane away into sweet nothing.
We’re here to sing of life and its infinite grace; to ache for beauty, to be grateful to our ability to test our own limits, to fly, to create, to contemplate, to deduce, and sometimes, to simply be.
We carry our stories in our throbbing feet, and our shimmering desire to live beautifully, so that we search for our own meaning. We resolve to see nuances that overlap to become a hazy blot. We resolve to dream with our eyes wide open because the world exists to offer us these possibilities.
We strive for that luminous wanderlust so that in our way of making art, creating images that linger on in the alleys and hollows and denes of memory, we not only push the limits, but erase them.
Without losing our story to the hurry of forming, without slipping past the skin in a hasty epilogue, we’ll continue to linger, hover like a damselfly in the air catching the glint of a dusty-golden dawn or of a saffron stroke of a sunset. We’ll continue to linger like a sharp echo that slumbers in the foldable silences of the wind.
Will you walk with us while we aspire to leave behind a blazing trail?
