My daughter used to be very much into arts when she was a little girl. Sometimes we would draw and colour together, exploring how different hues overlap and create new ones, with no clear boundaries across their spectrum. Colours are given various – sometimes quite confusing – names, but no matter how fancy we get with our vocabulary (by the way, “apricot peach” still sounds like a fruit salad to me), we don’t really do justice to their actual abundance, do we? Young children are very sensitive to this reality and like to catch us by surprise with their spontaneous, honest observations.

As we grow older and learn about new things, we tend to organise them by drawing definite lines between “this”, and “that”, creating clear characterisations, categories, labels. It surely makes it easier to navigate the world, but aren’t we getting too caught up with the idea in the process? Nature is in a constant state of flux, changing every moment, and so are we, along with our perceptions, moods, beliefs, appearances. There’s no real stagnation in or around us, as we flow along, experiencing, bumping into one another, and affecting our surroundings. There’s no real divide between us and nature.

Boundaries are useful, often necessary, especially in a social context; but it might be more accurate to see them as secondary to the reality – drawn over it rather than naturally grown. Perhaps, subconsciously insecure in our neatly fashioned, somewhat rigid categories, we tend to focus on clear-cut lines that divide and guard us, while overlooking more subtle, blurry ones, which underlie, and in doing so join various supposedly different realms.

A river may be seen as a line separating two banks and lands beyond, but it also connects them (and, most likely, many other places), inviting us to cross it and go exploring in all directions. It takes this child-like curiosity, openness, and courage to do it, but great discoveries may be awaiting us just around the bend.

I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to Álainn and her family for their generous involvement in making this clip. As my daughter isn’t a little girl anymore, your contribution made it very, very special to us, bringing back many sweet memories.



A little girl, a little confused
with a page of her coloring book
blue and yellow crayons in her hands.
“Why these black lines everywhere?
The real beach looks and feels much nicer”.

Turn the page and let her draw instead
wild waves, blurry winds, sand dunes
springing, overflowing with green phantom shadows
dimming limits of pure whiteness.

Learn from her about the lines
the real, the drawn,
the ones that cut, the ones that join,
and the ones that grow on their own
where other lines,
different lines,
where all these lines meet.

If you ever choose
to use the plain green crayon
then pick the softest,
pick the bluntest one
for drawing your lines

if you still want them,
if you still need them.
And if you still want them
then let them join, not cut,
let them not draw blood.
Then draw these lines
the beautiful lines.