I never know what will come from a walk. Usually, the impressions gather into paintings. Of course the next question is what will come from the paintings? Most of the time I can’t answer, especially after the painting leaves the studio. But occasionally, a painting is the beginning of an idea or story, in poetic form. Don’t ask. I really don’t know where that will lead.
Into the dark Stones, boulders, pebbles The homely, uncut cousins Of gems and geodes, Dragged or levered to The field's edge. Some stacked Some not quite. Most will slowly roll back To their original holes; Think less, sleep more.
I had forgotten that in high school you were a budding poet in addition to being a skilled artist. Your imagery is demonstrated in both your paintings and well as your words. You are gifted.
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II remember loving my English classes back then, but had forgotten the interest in poetry. Thank you for remembering. Words are so filled with their own magic, it’s fun to play around with them.