The Postmaster

Details Available in three sizes (6x12, 8x16, 10x20) Archival ink Textured cotton rag paper Hand-signed on back Packaged in clear sleeve Original story included Story Behind the Drawing In a small town in the south of France, there is a narrow, cobblestone alleyway that leads to a small post office. From the outside, the post office is unassuming. Terracotta walls give way to a centuries-old wooden door, while overhead, a simple sign reading “Poste” sways softly in the breeze. Many people, upon seeing the shop’s humble exterior, would be inclined to saunter past in search of bigger and brighter spaces. To judge the establishment by its exterior alone, however, would surely be a mistake, for the interior of the post office is another matter entirely. If you were to open the creaky door and step beyond the threshold, the first thing you would find is a room filled with warm, flickering light—the kind that reminds you of everything that is good in the world. The second thing you would find is a tiny postmaster scurrying to and fro, sorting mail into gigantic piles—all the while with a roll of stamps tangled around him. You would watch as Fritz, who insists he is a stoat and not a weasel, darts into and out of each pile with such grace that it is almost like he is performing water aerobics. You would say to yourself, “Well, this is certainly a strange job for a stoat,” to which I would reply, “We need not wonder how Fritz came to be the postmaster nor what his qualifications are. We need only let ourselves appreciate the beauty of this perhaps incomprehensible moment.”