The Red Wind Blows

This postcard began with a single rule: let the red go first. I flooded the surface with quick, open swathes—thick here, transparent there—so the ground could breathe through like light between clouds. Only afterwards did I reach for the black spirit pen. Those marks aren't corrections; they're passengers. They dart, settle, and lift the wind again

way litter lifts on a hard wind—momentarily choreographed by chance, then flung somewhere new.

Writing a card to a friend with coffee

 I'm interested in the tension between control and weather. Spirit pens have a crisp, unblended edge that reads like decision, while the red wash behaves like mood—blooming, seeping, edging into places it

wasn't exactly invited. Where they meet, little lagoons form: pockets of time that feel paused, then reanimated by a single black stroke. The palette's restraint makes the movement louder; there's nowhere to hide, so every gesture must earn its place.

The postcard scale is deliberate. The Red Wind Blows don't have to be mural‑sized to matter. On a desk or on a shelf, Windfall is a pocket forecast—an isobar of your own weather, captured at a glance. Unframed, it can migrate as easily as the marks that made it: from studio to pinboard, from envelope to someone else's day. If you've ever watched a gust rearrange the street and thought, "that's a drawing," this is for you.

The front of the Postcard

300 words (with full details) Title: Red Wind Blows

Dimensions: 105 × 148 mm

Medium: Spirit pens (red and black)

Year: 2026

Substrate: 320 gsm white card

Framing: Unframed

Back of the Postcard