Little Books series
I am not maker of books. I love shellac. I love interesting paper. I made a book.
And it turned out to be small, absolutely precious and quite beautiful. And I couldn’t stop. I became a bit possessed and made 9 books.
The pages of these books were beautiful but lacked words. In speech, I frequently begin sentences with the word, so. So each line in the books begins with the word so. The last line, so what? comes from being too analytical, too worried, too anxious about day to day life. When I look at the BIG picture, so what? seems to be the logical and relief driven conclusion.
The book covers have no relationship to the sentences on each page and the sentences are simply very random thoughts, which have no relationship to each other. Our brains are interesting—how thoughts filter through from nowhere or somewhere not known. I simply wrote the thoughts down. The books are fragile. Life is fragile.
Little Books with Words series
