Through practice we can get to the point where some disturbance may occur but the negative effects on our mind remain on the surface, like the waves that may ripple on the surface of an ocean but don’t have much effect deep down.
― Dalai Lama XIV, The Art of Happiness
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I’m finally getting into a bit of a better work groove here in the studio and it’s proving to be a nice distraction from the crapfest taking place here in our government. During both the actual painting process and just looking at it afterwards, pieces like this new 12″ by 12″ canvas are proving to be a great tool in making an escape from the chaotic idiocy of it all. I think that’s why I am calling this new painting The Calm Surface.
It feels very placid and calm, as though the storms that may rage far away will not shake it’s tranquil demeanor.
And that’s what I want for myself. I want to be, as the Dalai Lama advises above, that deep ocean water where the rough waves on the surface don’t reach down to the calm depths.
But I am not there. I don’t have that kind of depth yet and maybe I never will attain it.
But at least in works like this I have a tangible goal, a target for which I can set my bearings.
And that’s what I need right now– something to really work for.
The truth remains the same in every version of this world. It is a constant.
To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.
The Night is a temporary condition.
Every intention sets energy into motion, whether you are conscious of it or not. 
And I, too, felt ready to start life all over again. It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe. To feel it so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, made me realize that I’d been happy, and that I was happy still.
I guess most people would classify me as a landscape painter and it would be hard to dispute that statement. After all, most of my work does use the lines and forms of the landscape as its basis.