The Art of the Wolf

My restless nature also extends to the way I experience the world. While my day job floods my mind with metacognitions, my senses lay dormant and I’m always eager to appeal to them in the most delicious way:

…feeling the heat of the sun toast my limbs,

…listening to the sound of birds, laughter or the infectious beats of Katy Perry’s “California Girls,”

…savoring the tangy sweetness of red grapes,

…breathing in the tropical scent of jasmine flowers as I walk past the pool at my apartment,

…gazing upon vibrant colors that dilate my pupils and tug up at the corners of my mouth into a mischievous grin.

On that last note, Peggy Wolf is a woman after my own heart. I never gave much thought to the relationship between my short attention span and the arresting qualities of a collage. My eyes can dart about to their occulatory content and be completely captivated at the way the different depths, textures and colors transport me to a unique and uncharted reality that exists only in my mind’s eye.

A moment to reflect.

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