Words for walls.

My first art release for 2025.

The lines came to me like an invitation almost 2 years ago:

Tenderness has time here,

for I now know if there is not enough time to light candles in the evening,

I am living outside of my means.

It lingered, persistent but out of reach, until one evening, frustrated with my own inability to articulate it fully, I typed it out. No drafts, no edits—just the raw shape of it. I took a photo of my computer screen and sent it to my lover, a flicker of relief in finally pinning down the sentiment I had been imploding with for weeks. That same photo, smudged fingerprints visible on the screen, found its way to my socials, unvarnished…

…To my surprise, it resonated. Perhaps it was the honesty of its imperfections, the way it carried the urgency of the moment it was born. You shared it, saved it, and lingered on it and so I turned it into a thoughtfully designed bespoke print (see here).

And wrote an entire inquiry on it—

Read here.

The print circulated far and wide— to Spain, every state in Australia, Japan, and places I can’t even pronounce… and with it moving around the globe vastly, I was unable to ignore the request when a few of you gently asked if I might release it in the same form I first shared it almost two years ago…

You wanted the original capture of it from my computer screen (fingerprints and all)—

The original capture, fingerprints on the screen and all.

There’s something about that—the way a sentence can hold the heat of its making, as though the moment of its birth still hums within it. Rawness carries a resonance that perfection cannot touch. After years of creating and sharing, I’ve come to see this clearly: it’s not the immaculate lines that endure but the honest ones—the words that have wandered through frustration, that resisted clarity, that finally arrived like the longed-for full stop.

Fingerprints on the screen, smudges at the edges, the faint marks of a moment in motion—these are what make the work feel alive. It’s the evidence of the imperfect, the human trace, that gives it breath.

These are the marks that whisper, I was here.

This single string of words, born from an untidy moment, has gone on to become the makings of my next book—a slow, deliberate piece I’m forming slowly in 2025. It feels fitting that this idea, one that arrived so unexpectedly, has grown roots in such a rhythmic way.

And so as we turn to the year ahead, I wonder: what might it look like to create a life that feels within your means? Not in scarcity, but in abundance of time, space, and tenderness. A life where candles are lit not for ritual but because there’s room for it.

Tenderness takes its time, yes, but it also asks for ours. May this year give us the wisdom to offer it, be with it and create a life of it.

And with love, I am honoured to share your request, one that asked that I might turn the original screen capture into a print. So here it is, in two beautiful faded shades of blue and red, on paper, printed with love by Morgan Printing on Australian soils — just for you.

With Love and Caught Flowers,

xo

ps. An invitation to my first inquiry for the year will arrive later this week for my paid readership.

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Reader, sower, patron—co-conspirator of this quiet little arthouse, Thank you for supporting Catching Shower Flowers. You are part of this strange and tender place where the world tilts slightly, and art spills out. Your patronage isn’t just a gesture; it’s an act of recognition. It whispers, This matters. Keep going. And so, I do—because you are here, because you believe in the turning of thoughts, thoughts that have the chance to move into language, into poem, into story. I am grateful for you.