Working Artist on the High Road to Taos
This fear feels so old. Its birthing place nestled within the ancient history of man I’m thinking. We all must carry it, some sort of constantly on-guard defense system that will make us ready when the inevitable strike comes.
Isabro seemed to embody the spirit of what used to be, bearing history and the generations, in his bones. He was of this place. He was ancient and he was a child. A force of nature.
They always begin every meal, every cake, every dish, with the very best ingredients available. They never scrimp because of costs, and this is just one of the many ways the Sugar Nymphs shine above so many others.
“Take your time… Don’t live too fast, Troubles will come and they will pass… All that you need, is in your soul… Be a simple man. Be something you love and understand…”
Art. In all its forms, has the capacity to heal I continue to believe. Both by being in its presence and by making it. And all of us, as artists, must support the inspiration of others’ art whenever we can
“A time to gain, a time to lose, A time to rend, a time to sew, A time for love, a time for hate, A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.”
But standing right there on Monhegan it felt as though I experienced something of a quiet shift to that old personal journey: one in which I remembered to take pleasure, to be soft, to seek and find beauty, to laugh more, to create.
