Notes
Spring is another country
A poem, a painting
I like to pretend I accept the ambivalence of landscape but really I expect some subjectivity from it. I want its blessing, its confirmations, it’s healing powers. I want the right configuration of hedges, trees just so.
A selection of charcoal drawings from last year now available
Music on heavy rotation or nice new finds.
A choir sings in a field, faces pointed up into the encircling darke night. Each voice is like a dove issuing forth into the star-holed firmament.
Barn Wood is full of wood anemones, a patchy blanket of expectant white faces pointed towards any break in the forest canopy.
On the shore that first day were ocean-pocked plastic buoys, steel oil drums, nylon rope, hemp rope. A toilet seat.
Music on heavy rotation or nice new finds.
Music on heavy rotation or nice new finds.