My trekking back to the erudite North is
what the doctor ordered. The wheels have
gathered their tyre rough-edged black back.
I am ready to attack, pounce and step outside of
any known comfort zone.
Tonight I feel able, for the first time in
months. My mind, a mass of clouds, but
clarity and silence slivering its way through.
Today, a kind compatriot whispered to
me about destination and considering
art as an entity belonging in a physical
place/space. A definition that anchored me
in feeling comfortable to arrive to an end, not a
finality but a beginning to think about work
on walls, within a boundary of material.
I am considering pages again- paper and its
tactility- as an invitation to produce work
on transitions has made its way on my list
of gracious opportunities.
Up North contains a collection of unforeseen treasure.
Not some wayward dream of an easy road,
but a budding network of island aromas that wash over
me in image and words. Tonight I am grateful for my mind,
for the collection of people around me and mostly
for the embedded passion I have for the picture, the scrawl,
the murmur, the motion, the light, the color and the rendering
of imaginations and souls.
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