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Photo by Molly Condit: Sunstreet Photo
LANDSCAPES | OTHER | ABSTRACTS
None of my landscapes are of real places—other than that they must be close by where my shamans live. Call them “unearned memories” that live within me and come to life only when I paint.
“El Campo” 16” x 20” Acrylic on panel.
"My Arizona Sky" 36"x36" Acrylic on canvas. [SOLD]
"Meta One" 48" x 48" Acrylic on canvas.
"Meta Two" 48" x 48" Acrylic on canvas.
"Procyon" 16"x16" Acrylic on panel.
"The Whispers of Deneb" 36" x 36" Acrylic on canvas.
I touched your wing and felt the universe electric, waves of possibility echoing into nothing and everything: all illusion. I see you from the crests of different hills within that spectrum, which is mere artifice drawn by itself. But here, for your pleasure alone, I touch those contrapuntal nodes you perceive as colors and to which you give many names. And I make within you questions newly asked. And I... I do not know whether the cat lives still, nor do I care.
Life is a chaotic melange of real and unreal in which questions are free to answer themselves and pattern (in all but the mathematical sense) is meaningless illusion. So we create joy as only we may know it. We organize everything, because consciousness demands no less. And because in an infinite universe we are infinitely small; we create the outrider to push back the dark, to measure some measure and to oversee all.
Shhhh.... No one must know. There lies beneath this rattling air, beneath layer on layer of sand upon stone, the machine of our God, seeing with eyes closed. Silicon. Magnetite. Copper. Greenish bile and bloodless bone. None who look upon its face live to tell. But I believe. I must. I was told by my father those ages ago, who was told by his father as well. And who am I to question their words? They must have heard tales from those who did know, those messengers not of sinew made who spoke to the ancients and said it was so.