Imagine trading your soft bed for a deflating mattress.
Imagine food cooked under ash, a fire that smokes more than it warms.
Imagine waking at dawn with stiff muscles, yet finding yourself strangely alive.
This sketch is not just about tents, cars, and campfires.
It is about the in-between—where inconvenience and beauty wrestle, and something deeper sneaks in.
Camping reminds me: comfort is overrated, but presence is priceless.
you step carefully around the purple flowers blooming sporadically across the forest floor. it is very late at night, and you know that you shouldn't be wandering this uncharted planet on your own at this mysterious hour. but something in the trees beckons you subconsciously. as you begin to clamor up steep, untread areas of the landscape, you discard you burdens--a first aid kit, your water, all the suddenly unnecessary contents of your pack. something primitive roars inside of you. your pace increases; you now feel the shear closeness of whatever you are chasing so starkly. your feet and hands slip as you grasp onto the trunks of trees and throw your feet ahead of you with such purpose. at last, you arrive at a clearing--and there she is. and she is like nothing you have ever seen before. she is not human, far from it, but your passion for her claws at every inch of your insides. she is not like any creature that has walked earth or neptune. she is something entirely different, and you have fallen in love with that--with her.
Nikola Tesla (1856–1943)
After he had started his own company, Tesla arrived at the office at noon. Immediately, his secretary would draw the blinds; Tesla worked best in the dark and would raise the blinds again only in the event of a lightning storm, which he liked to watch flashing above the cityscape from his black mohair sofa.
Tesla ate alone, and phoned in his instructions for the meal in advance. Upon arriving, he was shown to his regular table, where eighteen clean linen napkins would be stacked at his place. As he waited for his meal, he would polish the already gleaming silver and crystal with these squares of linen, gradually amassing a heap of discarded napkins on the table. And when his dishes arrived—served to him not by a waiter but by the maître d’hôtel himself—Tesla would mentally calculate their cubic contents before eating, a strange compulsion he had developed in his childhood and without which he could never enjoy his food.
- From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
“Of all things, I liked books best.”
― Nikola Tesla
“One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane.”
― Nikola Tesla
#dailyrituals #inktober #NikolaTesla @masoncurrey
Intuitive painting in acrylic. 61 x 61 cm. Characters evolved as I worked and turned into a somewhat dreamlike composition. My love of colours and composition and the quirkiness of the contents makes this a very entertaining work.
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