From my journal:
She sits, stunned into deathly silence, hands between
tightened thighs, kneeling upon shimmering floor strewn with hopes alive.
Pensive, head cocked slightly towards a sound not heard, her eyes travel
upwards and ponder what lies ahead.
Spirits fly upon the night and whisper keys to open
locks…locks locked tight.
In the distance 3 figures silhouetted by fires back lit in
arched grove of which wonders framed. One holding the other in comfort-like
mother to child while the second reaches out in shocked silence.
The night dances with spirit shapes. Time no longer relevant
or linear. Nothing makes sense and all is chaotic. Yet…the figure remains in
prayerful pose, contemplating, almost there, almost cognizant of purpose known.
October 31, 2013
How to find purchase within
these words and transform them into paint, that is the quest each day as I
struggle to comprehend how these disparate shapes will unify into a whole. This
is the greater struggle within my painting world. To trust that inner voice and
where it will take me, confident in my hands need to lay paint stoke upon
stroke until out of this dense language form is revealed.
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