You might not recognise him, but this is Tyler Knott, the man behind the gorgeous “Typewriter Series”.  A poet, a photographer, an artist and a buddhist. In short the perfect man. And then some.

I just can’t get enough of him. And not because he is deliriously handsome, but because whenever I find myself prowling around Pinterest and happen upon one of his daily notes, in among his words, there is always a sentence that has me pausing, remembering, tingling, nodding or biting back tears.


Typed on scraps of sepia paper, the back of an old postcard, torn out book pages or other scrappy flotsam, the words acquire meaning without the formality of good type  or serious paper.


Often too romantic for my stone cold heart to tolerate, the Typewriter series, just like Tyler’s daily love haiku’s reflect the rise and calming of emotion. Of the ordinary and the magnificent. The relentless gnaw of enduring love and the tickly, irritating, all consuming fantasy that is infatuation. The questions. The answers, and all the grey waiting that lies in between.


It should not astonish me that one man could have so much emotion inside him, and yet some how it does.


Perhaps then, they are all bumbling around, brimming with feelings they cannot put into words in the way that Tyler Knott Gregson is so capable of?


Yes. Sometimes I forget that too.