"A man's life is nothing but an extended trek through the detours of art to recapture those one or two moments when his heart first opened"
Albert Camus
and this
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the imagination"
John Keats
I am back in a sketching mode.."the sketch " series?
this seems to happen at this time of year for me..
the nakedness of the trees, the barren quality of the landscape,
or scratching and digging to find the nub?
something extremely appealing about the gesture...
poems embedded
images incorporating the words
and mosses
and grasses..the earth
peeling back the layers, or
the layers we can't see
