His name was Aldo, which he felt he hadn’t quite lived up to yet. When he spent time in Spain they tended to pronounce his name Alto, of which he also didn’t quite fit the definition, being relatively average in stature. He would always accept the name for how it was said, knowing, either way, he had a distance to travel to meet the meaning behind it.
Aldo was always looked at in wonderment by the design community. It had become such unusual behavior, to disappear for those long stretches, locked up, away from everything, to return months later, unannounced and usually accompanied by a new design unlike anything seen before. Noone knew where Aldo went during these stints. SOme of his students tried following him once, speeding behin him in their car. They soon lost him when Aldo stopped to eat at a country diner and the students had too much to drink at the pub across the way.
With these trips, there remained an air of mystery attached to the figure of Aldo, yet to be unraveled by his fans and critics. Continuous speculation never hit on the simplicity of the truth. For Aldo, these hermetic episodes were all he could do to carry on the thing he loved most in life. It was the only real way he could clear the noise from the air and achieve bliss from pure work.
A Page a Day 