The London heart.

During a stroll in London, this heart stood out on a shop window.
Yes. I felt the love.
And I'd never trade that for a prize.

 

 

The Rose Petal Heart.

Spring is here.
Looking pale pink and dull.
April's rose petal was not shaped purposefully, cut out with shiny scissors.
April's rose petal was found at a baptism far away from the city.
Where bees hum and flowers grow without building reflections on their petals.

 

 

 

The flour heart.

 

Patricia was about seven months pregnant. She'd never made a spinach pie before so off she went to mix all the ingredients and work the dough. Slow moves and padam padam on the background. The dough knew where this was going. The dough laughed and twisted on the kitchen surface. The dough giggled, splattered Pat with tiny bits of flour pride. When it became convinced that Pat was going to make something out of it no matter what, the dough gave up. So it let Pat go on with her work. With love.

 



 

 

 

The rock heart.

 

Sea salt washes everythin away, they say. Some time after this picture was taken, the same heart could be hardly seen. Salt washes everythin away, I say. Salt contributes to things being ephemeral, I add.

 



The heartless toy-soldier heart.

There is. Indeed. A heart. For everyone. Even for those who kill. Even for those toy-soldiers who decorate shelves because they get sold. And they get sold because their job is to protect by killing or just to kill.  Stop killing your toys with other toys. Stop. Give your toy-soldier a heart.
 

 

The melting-colours heart. 

Whoever wears this colour-melting hat starts seeing life from a different perspective. With a hat like this one on, you've got nothing to be afraid of. A shield will form. Colours will start melting all over creating a thick layer of frost-looking colour lava.

This is the only way to freeze your heart, protect it, and defrost it in the future so you can have a cup of pollution remedy tea with your great great great grandchildren when they are at the same age as you at the exact time of defrost.

Enjoy!

 

The Snoopy heart.  

That is not nice. Snoopy has expressed an interest in bying a heart. At the same time, Snoopy is after a balloon heart. Now, I say, anyone would automatically assume that poor Snoopy ain't got a heart and that's why he's after one. But he does. And that's what most kids believe so stop ruining it and grow young for once.

Thanks to Kim for sending me this picture. 

 

 The confused person heart.  

There was always something confusing that raised questions and made my drawn person unhappy and unable to deal with the situation. Something with the likes. Something with dislikes. Something with the hormones. And something with the thoughts. Something was definitely wrong. 

My drawn person didn't give up. With its confused heart, my drawn person first wanted, then decided, to let it be. The behaviour kept changing with the days and that was a fact. Among all the different selves, my drawn person preferred the Thursday self. 

In the Thursday self, there was a world of selves. The selves of the Thursday self were better people. Brave. Honest. Proud. Hardworking. Kindhearted. Passionate. Optimistic. Spontaneous. Not greedy. Not rude. Tolerant. Fun.  On Thursdays, the drawn person had a mixture of the best qualities of the human race.  Thus, the drawn person only socialised on Thursdays and stayed out of sight during the rest of the week. 

On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, the drawn person fought with murderers, psychopaths, liers, wrong-doers, dwarfs of the mind, tolerance-lacking freaks, zombies, money-thirsty vampires, killer trolls. In other words, he fought with all his non-Thursday selves.

Gran's rebel heart.

Gran Vaia is not a bad person. Kind hearted and smooth, she narrated numerous stories to me during my childhood. She spoke of the war, of granpa, life in the village, goats, high life, egg pancakes with sugar,  secrets for leek pies, her idea of happiness.

On one of my last trips from Athens to Tokyo, I promised her I'd find some time to go and say goodbye. I got there late and found her at her balcony. The one with the breathtaking view. She'd grown  anxious, terrified that I'd forgotten all about her.

She offered to make me a cup of coffee but I had no time so I refused. I stayed with her for about half an hour. We hardly spoke. We only exchanged a couple of words, I remember. She was sitting on a comfy chair near the balcony edge. I sat on the floor right in front of her. I lowered my head and let it lie on her lap. With clean, long strokes, her strong hands went over my hair. Again and again, my head became lighter, all real worries evaporated and only one heavy feeling was left. The realisation and fear of leaving her behind.

That is the last beautiful memory I have of my Gran.

She walks all over my daydreams now. With a shooting gun, she tries to spot the ones that do me wrong. And there are plenty of wrong-doers.

The time has come for the aged people to take on arms and bring some light in the darkness of this world.
 

The queen heart.

Kingdom queens, music queens, fashion queens. They can all secretly touch whaterver they like. But with a heart to show, they look more timid.

Pre-heart image found on a wall in the centre of Athens.

The tattoo heart.

Vie is a chatter box, a flirt, a mad big spender. With golden spoons, porcelain tea pots and vintage beds covered with vail. Vie is a tease, a laugh, a catchy concept. Vie likes flowers, the changing seasons, the wrinkled hands, the photo frames. Vie knows how to hate and how to kill. But Vie knows better how to hide all weapons, dress in pink and dance away the worries in rose gardens and fountain drops. Ahhh. Vie is so large. She's like a song, a great belief, eternal pose. That's only if you know what I am talking about and truly see la vie en rose...
 

The conception heart.

Something's cooking in the womb.
Throw spices, add spices, stir with a sperm looking spoon, simmer and taste.

Drawing made by Alexis.