I paint these things because they mean something to me--something that is so much a part of me that I can't seem to fully describe it with a single artist statement. In fact, I don't know how to define it without explaining the zillion experiences that have accumulated into my admiration of the natural world.
Here is one of them.
September 4, 2009
Today I had one of those moments. One of those moments that feels like it was preluded by so many others, that felt like it was as predicated as the aligning of the planets or the dying of stars. It was preceded by a realization that the comfortable warmth of august and freedom of shorts and flip flops would soon give way--yet again--to the winter months, through which I fight to survive year after year.
The moment came while I decided to enjoy the heat of midday on a hike. I was by myself, and a little nervous that there wasn't anyone else on the trail. I reached the top, and then started back down. And ran. Fast. My arms were flailing and I felt free and grateful to be alive. The colors of the brown grass, green scrub oak, bright yellow black-eyed susans, and gray storm clouds slowly covering the cerulean sky combined into the perfect palette. Or at least the one closest to my heart. My feet fell to the dirt and gravel rhythmically, in a way that seemed invincible. I moved and breathed differently than any other time I came down that trail. I'm not sure which of the preceding moments of my day or life actually contributed to that moment. But I hope that I have more like it.
Postscript: I have.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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