Expanse of color fields and layers of looking
within, beyond the physicality.
The land felt.
The light remembered. In your paintings
I hear children's voices, violet hue of new leaves
the tree in the garden standing
through winter's white storm raging
driving rain and roots traveling
deeply come spring
like weaving, pulsing
prodding like love.
"Drawing is a process of printing the light on one's soul."
And a poem by W.S. Merwin
the back of the book "The River Sound"
Night the black bead
a string running through it
with the sound of breath
lights are still there
long ago when
they were not seen
in the morning
it was explained
to me that the one
we call the morning star
and the evening
star are the same.