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Archive for September, 2025

Gallery Talk One Week From Today!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on September 20, 2025| 2 Comments »

A Place of Sanctuary— You Could Win This Painting!

The whole value of solitude depends upon oneself; it may be a sanctuary or a prison, a haven of repose or a place of punishment, a heaven or a hell, as we ourselves make it.

― John Lubbock, Peace and Happiness

I promised the other day to reveal the painting that I would be the main prize awarded to someone at the Gallery Talk that I will be giving at the Principle Gallery next Saturday, September 27.

Well, here it is.

It’s titled A Place of Sanctuary and is a substantial piece at 18″ by 24″ on canvas. I believe this painting is, as I wrote earlier, a pip. I can’t fully describe what it is that makes it so, but it never fails to capture my attention when I am in its presence. Presence might be the right word, with its deep and rich colors and a large sun that feels that it might be a hypnotist’s watch mesmerizing me as I gaze at it.

Whatever it is, it transports me to a place that feels like sanctuary.

I have always maintained that the paintings given away at Gallery Talks over the years have great meaning for me, that giving it away has to involve a sense of sacrifice on my part. It has to hurt a little bit, has to make me question if I am making a mistake. This painting definitely falls into that category.

There will be a drawing for A Place of Sanctuary at the end of the Gallery Talk at the Principle Gallery which takes place next Saturday, Saturday 27, beginning at 1 PM. The Gallery Talk and the drawing for the painting is free and open to everyone. You must be present when the painting is awarded.

Hope you can make it to the Principle Gallery next Saturday. In the meantime, here’s post about this painting from a few years back:

I had never heard of John Lubbock before coming across the short quote above. He was one of those interesting 19th century British characters, a titled member (1st Baron Avebury) of a wealthy banking family who made great contributions to the advancement of the sciences and math as well as to many liberal causes. For example, it was John Lubbock who coined the terms Paleolithic and Neolithic in describing the Old and New Stone Ages, as well as helping to make archaeology a recognized scientific discipline. As a youth he was a neighbor to Charles Darwin and was heavily influenced by the older scientist, who he befriended. He also worked with Darwin as a young man and championed his evolutionary theories in his later adulthood. He was obviously a man who used his position and access to higher knowledge to add to both his own intellect and that of our collective body.

That being said, his words this morning gave me pause. I have generally viewed solitude as a sanctuary, even in the troubled times of my life. It was a place to calm myself, to gather my thoughts and clearly examine what was before me. I crave solitude so the idea that for some this same solitude could feel like a hell or a prison seemed foreign to me.

What differentiates one’s perception of such a basic thing as the solitude in being alone? How could my place of sanctuary be someone else’s chamber of horrors?

If you’re expecting me to answer, you’re going to be disappointed because I can’t really say. I might say it might have to do with our insecurity but I have as much, if not more, uncertainty and insecurity than most people. We all have unique psychological makeups and every situation, including that of solitude, is seen from a unique perspective.

This subjectiveness is also the basis for all art. What else could explain how one person can look at a painting and see an idyllic scene while another can feel uneasy or even offended by the same scene?

Now, the painting at the top, titled A Place of Sanctuary, is a piece that very much reflects this sense of finding haven in solitude. For me, it is calming and centering, a place and time that appeals to my need for sanctuary.

Someone else might see it otherwise. They might see something remote, alien and unsettling in it.

I may not understand it but that’s okay, too. So long as they feel something…

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Inner Perception, Redux

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 19, 2025| 2 Comments »

Inner Perception (2011)– Coming to Principle Gallery

I have sat here for quite some time this morning trying to write about some of the new work I have been producing for my October West End Gallery show or some that is headed with me to the Principle Gallery for my Gallery Talk there next Saturday.

I know that I am more than little distracted and anxious by what is happening in this country as we descend into outright authoritarianism. It sometimes seems trivial and foolhardy to talk about art and thought when the house is burning down around you.

But I also know that part of what I do is to create work and write about things that deal with coping with life and all its travails. There is a need and a place for what this is in times like this.

I am time strapped now after sitting and ruminating here for so long. So, I am running an older post that deals a bit with an older piece, Inner Perception, shown above, that I am bringing next week to the Gallery Talk at the Principle Gallery. Every so often I like to break out and make available a vintage piece or two. This has been a personal favorite for a long time now and I felt it was time to let it find a place where it could be viewed with fresher eyes than mine.

Here the post from 2014:

This is a painting from a few years back that has toured around a bit and found its way back to me. Called Inner Perception, it has been one of my favorites right from the moment it came off my painting table. Maybe the inclusion of the the paint brush (even though it is a house painter’s brush) with red paint in the bristles makes it feel more biographical, more directly connected to my own self. Or maybe it was the self-referential Red Tree painting on the wall behind the Red Chair.

I don’t know for sure. But whatever the case, it is a piece that immediately makes me reflective, as though it is a shortcut to some sort of inner sanctum of contemplation.

Looking at it this morning, a question I was asked at a Gallery Talk I gave at the Principle Gallery a week or so ago re-emerged.

I was asked what advice I might give my fifth-grade self if I had the opportunity.

I had answered that I would tell myself to believe in my own unique voice, to believe in the validity of what I had to say to the world.

I do believe that, but I think I might add a bit to that answer, saying that I would tell my younger self to be patient and not worry about how the world perceives you. That if you believed that your work was reflecting something genuine from within, others would come to see it eventually.

I would also add to never put your work above the work of anyone else and, conversely, never put your work beneath that of anyone else. I would tell myself to always ask “Why not me?” instead of “Why me?”

This realization came to me a couple of years ago at my exhibit at the Fenimore Art Museum. When it first went up it was in a gallery next to one that held the work of the great American Impressionists along with a painting from Monet. I was greatly intimidated, worrying that my work would not stand the muster of being in such close proximity to those painters who I had so revered over the years. Surely the greatness of their work would show me to be a pretender.

But over the course of the exhibit, that feeling faded and the intimidation I had initially felt turned to a type of defiant determination. I began to ask myself that question: Why not me?

If my work was genuine, if it was true expression of my inner self and inner perceptions, was it any less valid than the work of these other painters? Did they have some greater insight of which I was not aware, something that made their work deeper and more connected to some common human theme? If, as I believe, everyone has something unique to share with the world, why would my expression of self not be able to stand along their own?

The answer to my question was in my own belief in the work and by the exhibit’s end I was no longer doubting my right to be there. So, to my fifth-grade self and to anyone who faces self-doubt about the path they have chosen, I say that if you know you have given it your all, shown your own unique self, then you must ask that question: Why not me?

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Busyness

Posted in Uncategorized on September 18, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Blue Moon Calls- At West End Gallery

Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

—Mary Oliver, The Old Poets of China

Too busy to write much this morning but wanted to share the Mary Oliver verse above. It kind of sums up how I am viewing this too much busyness stuff. I need the cool quietude of a mountain top or some other place like the one in the painting shown here. Fortunately for me, that scene is already in my mind so it’s a short trip to get there.

Just have to get past some busyness.

Speaking of busyness, here’s a reminder to keep an eye out in the coming days for a preview of the painting that I will be giving away at my Gallery Talk that takes place next Saturday, September 27, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The talk begins at 1 PM and normally lasts about an hour, give or take.

The painting I have chosen is a pip, if you know what that means. Like I said, keep an eye out in the coming days and mark your calendars for next Saturday. Hope to see you there!

Now, I have to run. This damn busyness won’t leave me alone.

Where’s that mountain and that pale mist?

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In the Weave of Time

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 17, 2025| Leave a Comment »

In the Weave of Time– Coming to West End Gallery

Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.

–Delmore Schwartz, Calmly We Walk Through This April’s Day (1938)

Sometimes I begin to write about a new painting fully intending to describe what it means to me. But there are times when those intentions go out the window. Then I find myself just staring blankly at the piece.

I should say staring blankly into rather than at the painting because it’s not one of those cases where you stare straight ahead without focusing on or even knowing what is in front of your eyes. The mind is so preoccupied with something else that it commandeers your eyes.

No, this is the opposite, more like having what is front of my eyes push away all thought and empty my mind.

The eye commandeers the mind. I suppose that would be a form of involuntary meditation. Maybe that’s the best kind, one that comes without trying.

That’s kind of what happened first thing this morning. I was intending to write a bit about the new painting at the top. It’s an 18″ by 18″ canvas titled In the Weave of Time and is included in my October solo exhibit, Guiding Light, at the West End Gallery.

I pulled up the image and before I knew it, I was staring into it with an empty mind. I say empty but it was not a pure void. It had a harmony, a tone of great calmness. It had a space as well, one that placeless and timeless.

It’s hard to explain. Placeless and timeless things often are.

But frustrating as it was to find my mind empty at a time when I was desiring words and thought, I was pleased by the effect. It gave me some much-needed stillness at a moment when time and deadlines plague my thoughts.

It felt like a gift in the dark of morning.

This not what I intended to write about this painting but maybe it should have been. It certainly says more about it than the meager words I probably would have spewed.

Unfortunately, I have to return to a world filled with time and place and deadlines right now. But first, I am going to spend a few more minutes in this painting. I need it.

Here’s a favorite song, The Stable Song, from Gregory Alan Isakov. It came on while I was writing what I hadn’t intended writing and it felt right in the moment. I often have music playing while I work and much of it plays without me noticing the song or artist due my focus on the work in front of me. But whenever this song comes on, I stop and listen for a few minutes.

There’s a familiarity in it that rhymes with some memory of in the weave of time. And that’s all I could ask for this morning.

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Goodbye, Marty…

Posted in Uncategorized on September 16, 2025| 7 Comments »

Martin Poole, Moon VII , West End Gallery

I never like writing about the death of a friend. It’s hard to express the complicated nature and meaning of friendship especially when the shock of their death is close at hand. It seems like words never say enough and often fail to capture the whole of the person. And with a friend with so many facets of being, it seems even more insufficient.

I learned yesterday afternoon of the death of the painter and longtime friend Marty Poole. He passed away this past weekend from a cardiac event at his home outside of Asheville, NC. 

I have known Marty for thirty years now. In fact, my introduction to the West End Gallery came as the result of buying a small Marty Poole painting the year before I began showing my own work there.

Marty was one of the stalwarts of the West End Gallery, having shown his work there for over 45 years. His work was always luminous, as though lit from within. You could see it in his broad, ethereal landscapes and especially in his mood-filled figurative work. I

I could go on and on about his painting. It was always special work, and both his talent and eye were remarkable. World class. But it was his mind that differentiated him from many artists. He had a wide and deep knowledge of painters and other artists that fed an analytical mind, allowing him to discuss in great detail almost any painting you might put before him.

And it didn’t stop with art. He could speak easily on a wide range of subjects, often delving deep into the esoteric aspects of philosophy and psychology. A simple comment could lead to a fascinating discussion

His mind along with his humility and kindness are the things I will miss about Marty. He was a friend and teacher to many artists in this area. 

It’s hard to believe that Marty is gone, that there will be no more Marty Poole paintings being gifted to us in the future or any more great conversations with him. The world lost a great one.

 Marty was, along with his great friend and painter Tom Gardner, were my first real artist friends when I began showing at the West End. They both accepted and embraced me as a fellow artist even when I was still a fledgling painter.  Their generosity of spirit meant the world to me then and without it, I don’t know that I would have followed the same path as the one I am following. I am forever in his debt.

As I said above, this is woefully insufficient in capturing the man, his talent, his warmth, or his legacy. It’s a hard task when the shock is still at hand.

Goodbye, Marty. Thank you for what you gave this world.

Good travels to you, my friend…

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Anyone Who Had a Heart

Posted in Uncategorized on September 14, 2025| 2 Comments »

In Harmony— At Principle Gallery

I have an idea that the only thing which makes it possible to regard this world we live in without disgust is the beauty which now and then men create out of the chaos. The pictures they paint, the music they compose, the books they write, and the lives they lead. Of all these the richest in beauty is the beautiful life. That is the perfect work of art.

― W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil

There are so many things that I could use to demonstrate the chaos and ugliness currently taking place in this country, from masked ICE agents racially profiling then sweeping people off the streets of our cities to a host on Fox News unequivocally advocating for the euthanasia of the homeless and mentally ill, stating, they should be subject to “Involuntary lethal injection, or something. Just kill them.“

That clip from Fox has haunted me since I first watched it yesterday. I found myself asking how people have allowed themselves to descend to such depths of inhumanity. How could they be so cavalier with the life of another person?

But more than that, I asked myself how people who possess any warmth and humanity towards others can get through times like this without themselves falling into a pit of anger and hatred.

I know the answer to that last question. It’s a thought that has been revisited here many times, one that perfectly captured in the passage above from Somerset Maugham.

People under stress react with the creative impulse.

Much like trees that produce more seeds when they feel under stress. I thought of this yesterday when I came across a acorn caps that had fallen from the oaks along the path between my home and the studio. I have seen it many times over the years as the oaks, hickories, and white pines on our land respond with big increases in their seed production when the weather is severely hot and dry.

Not being trees, humans react to stress by trying to change the world in the only ways they know–through their art, their writing, their music, and so on. 

And most importantly of all, by focusing on living in a way that creates a beautiful life, one filled with grace, harmony, honesty, compassion, balance, and courage.

As Maugham writes, that is the perfect work of art.

That’s not easy, of course. Creation is never easy. But by recognizing that one can create beauty in their own life, the path is at least created. And maybe that path will serve, like many works of art, as a symbol and guide for others.

I know it sounds naive, even weak, when faced with the vitriol and the hatred of the inhumanity we are facing. But you have to remember that creation takes strength, courage, and sacrifice. It ultimately comes from tough people with strong survival instincts.

If they have to fight to protect that which they have created, they do not hesitate.

That is the type of strength that defeats hatred and inhumanity.

Here’s this week’s Sunday Morning Music, an oldie from that perfectly matched team of singer Dionne Warwick and the songwriting team of Burt Bacharach and Hal David. This is Anyone Who Had a Heart from 1964. It seems right for the subject today.

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Still Not Like Everybody Else

Posted in Uncategorized on September 13, 2025| Leave a Comment »

matisse-- Young Girl in a Green Dress 1921

It has bothered me all my life that I do not paint like everybody else.

–Henri Matisse

Well, Mr. Matisse certainly did not paint like everybody else and I, for one, am glad of it.

But I believe I know what he is saying. As an artist, you’re always torn between two poles of confidence, the high and the low.

When it is at its highest point, you believe so strongly in what you are doing that it doesn’t matter what everybody else’s work is like.

But at the low points, you lose confidence in the credibility of your own voice and vision. At these low points it seems like it would be easier to have the comfort of being able to judge your own work against others who do the same type of work so that you could gauge whether your creations were worthy of notice.

I certainly have swung wildly between these two poles and have at points wished that I painted more like other artists, as though I would somehow benefit from their credibility. I know that this sort of thinking is misplaced and the result of low self-esteem in that moment, but it happens.

And on a more regular basis than one might think.

But the work itself is usually the voice of reason, the thing that brings me around once more. Just getting lost in the creation of a piece and sitting in front of it in the aftermath, still fully immersed in the life force it then exudes, washes away that need to be like everybody else.

But even in that moment, I know that nagging feeling and the desire to be like everybody else will still be there waiting for me when I inevitably swing back to the low side.

So, Mr. Matisse, thank you for not being like everybody else. I know how hard it sometimes must have felt but we appreciate you staying true to your own voice.

I apologize for replaying another blogpost again this morning. I am again tight on time and instead of not sharing anything and since I liked sharing the work of those other artists yesterday, I thought I’d share a post that ran (as a replay) three years back that feature a selection of Matisse’s interior scenes, which I very much admire.

Plus, I strongly identify with Matisse’s words here. When I am at a low ebb of confidence, which happens more than I would like, I wonder if should try to paint more like everybody else. Or even paint at all. Fortunately, I’ve done this long enough that there is almost a script for this situation by now, one where I tell myself that in these moments of doubt, I am failing to recognize that it is the fact that not being like everybody else is actually the strength of most artists.

Fresh material tomorrow. Promise.

Now let’s listen to the Kinks. They know what I’m talking about.

Matisse Interior with Phonograph 1924matisse the Window 1916matisse -- Studio Quay of Saint-Michel 1916Matisse - interior-at-nice 1921Henri Matisse -the red studioMatisse-The-Dessert-Harmony-in-Red-Henri-1908-fast

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Final Paintings (Redux)

Posted in Uncategorized on September 12, 2025| 5 Comments »

artists-last-works-Stuart davis 1964

Stuart Davis — Fin ,1964

There’s no retirement for an artist, it’s your way of living so there’s no end to it.

― Henry Moore

Too much to do this morning so I am sharing a post from four years back about artists never retiring. I read a great quote about this the other day and failed to write it down. And now that I want it, the speaker and the words completely evade my memory. Instead, I’ll use the quote above from sculptor Henry Moore.

[From 2021]

We had dinner with our good friends last night and somehow the conversation came around to the idea of me painting until the last moment of my life. No retirement here, I guess. We agreed that my final painting should have a big slash of paint, most likely red, going down through the surface of the painting as I slump to the ground for the last time.

I suggested that maybe I paint one now just to insure that I am not caught off guard. Death can sneak up on you sometimes and foil your best laid plans.

Of course, that was all in fun but it made me think about the final paintings of well known artists. There are plenty of great examples. Some are complete and well known pieces by these artists in their final days. For example, Claude Monet‘s last work was the completion of his massive multipart mural the Grande Decoration. An epic and fitting way to finish to his painting life. Or you can look to the final painting Edouard Manet, A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, which may be the best known of his works. Or there’s Paul Klee and his The Last Still Life, which was titled by his son after his death.

My favorite final painting is the one shown here at the top, Fin, from Stuart Davis. On a June night in 1964, after watching a French movie on TV that concluded with the word “fin” (which means “the end” in French), he added the word on the painting on his easel before going to bed. He suffered a stroke that very night and died in the ambulance while on the way to a NYC hospital. It truly was the last painting for him. Fin.

Both Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo painted watermelons the subject of their final paintings. This is fitting because the watermelon is a symbol associated with the Mexican Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. In Rivera’s case, he didn’t want to paint it but did so at the insistence of a collector. Maybe he knew it would be his last painting?

There are some final paintings that are unfinished, the process cut short by death. I don’t believe Keith Haring‘s final piece, Unfinished Painting from 1990, shown below, falls in this category. I think it was meant to appear unfinished as a statement on the lives, his included, being cut short by AIDS at that time.

A favorite of mine from the unfinished last paintings is The Bride from Gustav Klimt, shown below, mainly because it reveals an interesting part of his process which was that he would paint his figures as completed nudes before painting on their clothing. I don’t know if that was simply part of his process or part of his deeper sexual obsessions. Either way, it’s kind of interesting.

There are plenty of other examples and there will be plenty more in the future, I am sure. Artists don’t really ever retire, after all.

Now, I have to go. There’s an unfinished painting waiting for me put a red slash through it…

artists-last-works- monet The Grandes Décorations 1920 26

Claude Monet- The Grandes Decorations mural

artists-last-works-haring 1990 Unfinished Painting

Keith haring- Unfinished Painting 1990

artists-last-works-Klee the last still life 1940

Paul Klee- The Last Still Life, 1940

adorn the bride with veil and wreath by Klimt.jpg

Gustav Klimt- The Bride, 1918

artists-last-worksKahlo Viva La Vida

Frida Kahlo — Viva La Vida, 1954

artists-last-works-Rivera The Watermelons 1957

Diego Rivera– The Watermelons, 1957

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Still Can’t Let Go

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on September 11, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Imitatio (2021)

The patient cannot remember the whole of what is repressed in him, and what he cannot remember may be precisely the essential part of it. He is obliged to repeat the repressed material as a contemporary experience instead of remembering it as something in the past.

― Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle

I am sharing what might seem like an odd triad this morning– a passage from Sigmund Freud on compulsion, a Red Chair painting of the aftermath of what looks to be a wild party and a song, Can’t Let Go, from the odd and wonderful pairing of Alison Krauss and Robert Plant.

I think there’s a connection in there somewhere. Just can’t be sure if anyone else will see it.

A compulsion to repeat ourselves is an underlying theme in my work. I sometimes think I know there is something more than meets the eye in these familiar forms and colors and lines and icons –the omnipresent Red Tree, for example– and that if I keep delving into them, they will at some point reveal their secrets to me.

Some tidbits of wisdom, any iota of truth that will make it all make sense.

That must be close to a definition of compulsion. Probably much in the same way that we– both individually and collectively– seem to constantly repeat ourselves, making the same missteps and covering the same ground as though we have some sort of short-term memory dysfunction that prohibits us from seeing the patterns we have followed all along, that keeps us from learning from our mistakes.

I am hoping there is some constructive effect in my own compulsion. I would hate to think that the decades of work that have come with it are a matter of me simply making the same mistake over and over again.

Not that that would surprise me. I often make the same mistake again and again, somehow thinking that this time will yield different results.

Maybe I should stop contemplating my navel this morning and get to work. Who knows? Maybe today will be the day I figure it all out, the day that bit of long sought wisdom is finally revealed.

Or not. Doesn’t matter. My compulsion would most likely blind me to it and keep me at it even if I find it now.

In the meantime, enjoy this Alison Krauss and Robert Plant version of Can’t Let Go, from their second album together, Raise the Roof. It’s a song famously covered by Lucinda Williams on her great 1998 album, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road.

Good stuff.

This post is from several years back. I was going to comment on the many events taking place right now– the Kirk killing, the Russian drones probing NATO airspace, the Epstein revelations, the random abductions by ICE agents, the continued occupation by US troops within our cities, etc. Just thinking about it as a whole felt very much like what this post, especially Freud’s words. We repress the lessons of our past and continually repeat patterns of behavior, thinking that we can come up with different results than those from prior times.  

Like the title of the song, we just can’t let go.

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Dusk of Time

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on September 10, 2025| 2 Comments »

Dusk of Time– Coming to West End Gallery

When philosophy paints its grey on grey, then has a shape of life grown old. By philosophy’s grey on grey it cannot be rejuvenated but only understood. The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk.

–Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Philosophy of Right (1821)

This is the first new painting from my October solo show at the West End Gallery that I am sharing here. I didn’t think it would be the first painting from the show to be shown, mainly since it is relatively small at 6 inches wide and 18 inches tall. There are much bigger pieces from the show, including the title painting, Guiding Light, that I could have shared here first. But it stood out to me this morning and it still does somewhat represent the title of the show with its prominent dropping sun.

You might see it as a rising sun and that’s fine. Art is subjective to our own personal interpretation. While I might see it one way and I am its creator, that doesn’t mean it must have only that meaning. Once I put it out in the open air it is on its own and it becomes what the viewer thinks it is.

But I am sharing my thoughts today, so we’ll call it a dropping sun at dusk. I felt that the passage at the top from the German philosopher Hegel truly fit what I was seeing in this painting. I saw it as being about the passage of time, the ending of a period of time, and the retrospection that comes after that time is gone. 

He is basically saying that we can only truly know and understand anything until it has fully run its course and is well beyond our efforts to bring it back to life. The Owl of Minerva that he employs here is an ancient symbol of wisdom. The owl flies when we gain the wisdom from any time or event only after it has completed the course of its existence. 

That makes sense to me. So often we lose understanding and insight when we are in the midst of the happenings of our time. We see and hear only bits and pieces of the truth along with a multitude of falsehoods, biased opinions, and myriad distractions. We are unable to see the full scope and perspective of events (or lives) while they are happening.

We can’t see them in their fullness until the arc of their being has been completed. Only then does there come clarity as time washes away the debris that obscured the truth while it existed.

Of course, sometimes this clarity is only gained after years, decades, and centuries. Sometimes eons and ages. 

In this painting, Dusk of Time, I see that clarity on a smaller scale in the reflection that sometimes comes at the end of the day, especially when that day has been an eventful one. Ideally, you can see the arc of the day and understand how it took shape and where it led you. Perhaps how you will go forward.

That’s a thumbnail explanation. There’s a lot of feeling in this smaller painting, much more that I can put down right now.

It just feels like it knows a story that it needs to share. I have a sense of the story and the truth it is telling me. But what that story is and what truth it reveals is up to whoever engages with it. 

 

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