Articles from January 2017

Published

in the moment

Every few hours I have a thought, read an article, see a beautiful image that I want to share with you… But when we’re together, I melt into the moment and forget all the things I’ve stored up ― and only remember them when I’m alone again with an open book on my lap, watching the trees sway in the wind, or the flames flicker in the fireplace. Perhaps if I write the words on my body, hide the images in my hair, tuck little folded printouts into every pocket, you’ll discover them next time we laugh and talk and listen, revealing all the things I wanted to share. And perhaps, if I look carefully, I’ll find a week’s worth of stories nestled into the curves and corners of your body too…

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

Published

alternate realities

In the middle of the night when I’m not sleeping, I imagine other realities that might have been if I’d expressed my attraction to this person or that one, or run off to live in the woods or on an organic farm, or if I’d never been told that I couldn’t sing or that my legs were too short and my thighs too wide. What if I’d gone to art school instead of travelling the country, or taken my clothes off that night by the river, or said “yes, but…” instead of just “yes”? What if I’d business-partnered with my boss, closed doors as I walked out of rooms rather than letting the people I was walking away from follow me? What if I had done everything differently? Turned it all upside down? The number of possible worlds I could be living in is overwhelming. And in some ways, under the cover of darkness, and with the delirium that comes with too much raw energy and not enough sleep, each of them seems not only plausible, but real. I can feel the baby at my breast, I can see the bass-string-sized blisters on my plucking hand, I can hear the seductive laugh of the roommate I was too afraid to kiss, I can taste the fresh sweetness of the mangoes and avocados that grow in my backyard. And after a time of revelling in the realness of what might have been, I slip out from under the blankets and begin work on what might still be!

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

Published

project 139 – four

as you ran fingers along my spine, you asked, how did you get such strong muscles here? from carrying the weight of the world, i said.

heidi kalyani, 2016, from *project 139 (or less)*

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melting

I’ve been wondering if you’ll blush when I run my hands over your face and down your neck to your throat, when I tell that you’re beautiful from the inside out, when my eyes penetrate you so fully that I can read the language in your mind before it reaches your tongue. I wonder how you will feel when I cradle your vulnerability in the firmness of my hands, or in the softness of my heart ― what will happen to your breath, your nervous system, the million minor worries that you carry like a cloud of insects on your back. I wonder if you will melt like I do, as quickly as a sliver of ice in boiling water, or a palmful of coconut oil on hot skin.

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line

 

Published

cold dusk

Sometimes in the stark loneliness of cold winter dusk, I reach under my wool shawl and rest my hand on the tender place between my ribs and my hip bone, wishing it was your hand there instead. I like the feel of you, the warmth and weight, the subtlety of pressure that wants, offers, and waits to be wanted before offering more. I like the wide-eyed way you look at me, as if there is a wild story written on my body, as if while blinking you’re afraid I’ll disappear. I like the resonance of your laughter, the ease with which it sinks into my skin, slips into my veins and swirls around inside me, nourishing, healing, sparking all kinds of happenings I’ve only dreamed of before. I like imagining you at a window, staring into the grey and pink streaked sky, waiting for the kettle to boil, and feeling my presence so strongly that you make two cups of tea instead of one.

— heidi kalyani, 2017 
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line