And of course it is moments like these, all knitted together in one fine tapestry, that make me unspeakably grateful to be living this artful life, on this priceless land, in this remarkably rich part of the world.
A birthing that necessitated pain, as all birth does, was taking place and I was in it. I was coming into ME. And my paintings reflected all of it–the growth, the pain and the confusion.
… this is where I caught my first true glimpse of me. THIS is where the abstracts were born. But I wouldn’t fully understand it until this very moment as I write it out to you.
I, personally, think his work is very contemporary, but it also stirs a sense of something rather “old” in me. Be it France at the turn of the century, or the Renaissance, his work embodies something deep and rich that resonates historic works, while still being every bit modern.
I am sitting at my kitchen table with a mug of steaming coffee, watching a snowstorm move across the mountains. A profound silence fills me with peace and I am so very grateful for this life I have chosen.
The day dawned gentle and bright here in Truchas and it was basically a typical morning except that I have a confession to make…
… clothespins on a clothesline lit by the sun… the joy of feeding birds outside a window… giving an animal a warm home he can count on… the gentle quiet of a morning, a good book and a cup of coffee….