Wind unnerves me when it whistles through cracks in my windows in the darkness of a moonless night, or slaps wet tree branches against the siding of my little wooden house. It makes a mess of my hair — the long strands stinging my eyes and tangling themselves around my tongue when I try to eat or speak. It pulls the fall leaves down weeks before I’m ready, leaving the trees bare and the ground an unexpected yellow. It moves my emotions as fast as clouds, sometimes in straightforward lines, but more often in increasing and decreasing spirals — round and round until I’ve felt so much, I feel nothing. And sometimes, as it cools the back of my neck, dances through the long grasses on the side of the path, or lovingly surrounds me with the raw scent of wild roses, I’m grateful for the animation and movement inherent in it — for without it, I fear I’d get stuck.
— heidi kalyani, 2017
from the *nothing is black and white* project: illustration created out of meditation with a single unbroken line