Cousins not Twins
Thomas told me he’d fallen in love with Baby, It Was Real — the piece I’d tattooed on Matthias a few years earlier. He didn’t want a copy. He wanted a version that spoke his language. Not a twin — more like a French cousin.
We spent the morning talking — about life, about symbols, about what the original meant to him. Somewhere between the coffee and the sketchbook, the idea began to mutate. The familiar lines started bending into new shapes.
Three days later, we had something different. Something alive. The same DNA, sure — but this one carried its own heartbeat, its own accent, its own reason to exist.
Look close and you’ll see the connection between them, but also the distance — two pieces that share DNA but live separate lives.
That’s what happens when we revisit an old design. Not a repeat, an evolution.
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