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ALI stopped at an antique store today for one very unglamorous reason: the bathroom.
I left with three old books.
Two are full of illustrations and textures that I already know are going to end up torn, glued, layered, and loved inside my journal.
The third was an old Mercedes shop manual from the 50s–70s that I grabbed for my granddaughter. She wrinkled her nose and said, “It’s dirty”… and then sat there flipping through it like it was treasure.
She reads brand new books. I cut up old ones.
Different styles. Same love of pages.
There’s something about old paper that makes me feel connected to the hands that made it, touched it, used it before me. And now it gets folded into my life, my art, my journaling.
That’s the kind of creativity I believe in.
Not starting from scratch.
Responding to what already exists.
This is my version of journaling — layered, imperfect, alive.
What can’t you resist at an antique store?
@alwaysbarefootliving
