Rosetta Stone

There is a channel behind my house. Sometimes it is a raging creek, sometimes it is a gentle stream. Often, it is a dry trench where wildflowers grow. My arm is that kind of conduit for the creative impulses that flow down from my mind. Sometimes it is a turbulent river of paint. When the time is right, I make clay pots. If I am unable to set up all that is needed to paint or work in clay, I can always pick up a pen or pencil. Usually, regardless of what else is there, words float down the stream to accompany the images. My writing isn’t meant to explain the art. The art has to stand on its own. What comes out of me is like a Rosetta Stone… the same thing coming out in different languages or forms. Understanding one might unlock another for you.

The words are not intended to justify the visual expressions.

During those times when you don’t see any new art coming from me, know that the wildflowers are growing. I am living, and experiencing wonderful things. This way, when I do pick up a paintbrush again, I will have something new to say.

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