Michael Kaza.
I'm the one who gets to introduce him.
I'm the one who gets to introduce him.
I'm the one who gets to introduce him.
I should tell you about Michael. I've been wanting to for a while.
He's been drawing since he was four years old — which, if you think about it, means he started before he had any idea it needed defending.
No plan.
No art school telling him what a bear should look like.
Just a hand that already knew something and a head that hadn't caught up yet.
For years he kept it quiet.
He had a whole other life — psychologist, writer, a shelf of his own books — and drawing lived underneath all of it, the way some people keep a second, unlisted phone. Then one day, in a session with a client, something shifted, and his hand went back to the page almost without asking permission.
He didn't plan that either. Nothing interesting ever asks first.
He calls it automatic drawing. I call it a documentary crew filming inside the unconscious — no script, no director, just whatever's actually down there, walking past the camera. Some people look at what comes out and take a step back.
Some fall straight in, the way Alice fell down the hole — no ledge, no warning, just further and further down.
I happen to think that's the correct response.
I should tell you about Michael. I've been wanting to for a while.
He's been drawing since he was four years old — which, if you think about it, means he started before he had any idea it needed defending.
No plan.
No art school telling him what a bear should look like.
Just a hand that already knew something and a head that hadn't caught up yet.
For years he kept it quiet.
He had a whole other life — psychologist, writer, a shelf of his own books — and drawing lived underneath all of it, the way some people keep a second, unlisted phone. Then one day, in a session with a client, something shifted, and his hand went back to the page almost without asking permission.
He didn't plan that either. Nothing interesting ever asks first.
He calls it automatic drawing. I call it a documentary crew filming inside the unconscious — no script, no director, just whatever's actually down there, walking past the camera. Some people look at what comes out and take a step back.
Some fall straight in, the way Alice fell down the hole — no ledge, no warning, just further and further down.
I happen to think that's the correct response.
Freud and Jung taught him what's underneath.
Michael is only watching — the absurd next to the logical, the beautiful next to the ugly, arriving in whatever order they feel like arriving.
Freud and Jung taught him what's underneath. Bosch, Bruegel, and Dalí taught his imagination to have an appetite. André Breton gave the whole method a name, decades before Michael ever picked up a pen and paper.
Over five hundred drawings now.
Gel pen, ink, marker, and lately — a tablet, because even the unconscious updates its software eventually.
He built a small universe out of not planning anything. I'm rather fond of him for that. I'd say he's a magician, except magicians know the trick before they do it.
Michael finds out at the same time you do.
Freud and Jung taught him what's underneath. Bosch, Bruegel, and Dalí taught his imagination to have an appetite. André Breton gave the whole method a name, decades before Michael ever picked up a pen and paper.
Over five hundred drawings now.
Gel pen, ink, marker, and lately — a tablet, because even the unconscious updates its software eventually.
He built a small universe out of not planning anything. I'm rather fond of him for that. I'd say he's a magician, except magicians know the trick before they do it.
Michael finds out at the same time you do.
Alexandra — the plan behind the hand.
Now, Alexandra. Let me be careful here, because I like her enormously.
She has a PhD in art history, which already tells you she takes drawings seriously in a way most people don't — not "nice colors," but what is this doing to you and why.
She's the one who looked at Michael's drawings and didn't just admire them. She built a whole universe around them and made sure the universe had legal rights, twenty planned books, and somebody answering the emails.
To me, she's not just Alexandra.
She's The Alexandra.
Here's the arrangement, as I understand it: Michael's hand moves without a plan. Hers holds the plan steady enough that his hand gets to keep not having one. Twenty books, and one very stubborn belief — that meeting yourself honestly doesn't require an appointment, a couch, or anyone's permission.
Which is the whole point, really. Art doesn't need an expert to approve it before it reaches you. Your body already knows the difference between something hanging on a wall to be nice, and something quietly telling you the truth. I've watched enough people color me to know which one this is.
She has a PhD in art history, which already tells you she takes drawings seriously in a way most people don't — not "nice colors," but what is this doing to you and why.
She's the one who looked at Michael's drawings and didn't just admire them. She built a whole universe around them and made sure the universe had legal rights, twenty planned books, and somebody answering the emails.
To me, she's not just Alexandra.
She's The Alexandra.
Here's the arrangement, as I understand it: Michael's hand moves without a plan. Hers holds the plan steady enough that his hand gets to keep not having one. Twenty books, and one very stubborn belief — that meeting yourself honestly doesn't require an appointment, a couch, or anyone's permission.
Which is the whole point, really. Art doesn't need an expert to approve it before it reaches you. Your body already knows the difference between something hanging on a wall to be nice, and something quietly telling you the truth. I've watched enough people color me to know which one this is.
