"Liquid Mirrors"

acrylic on canvas, museum wrap, 30" x 40"

The most beautiful time of day to me, is dusk. There is a peaceful settling up quality to it I find no matter where I am. The fading light carries with it the activity and energy of the day and allows a gathering in of place and self for the rest of evening.

Nowhere is this more evident to me than in the marsh. The huge expanse of sky across the meditative landscape of grasses has always called to me. There is something very holy and tender about the light across the water. Years ago, on a birding trip, I named it 'liquid mirrors' for the way it transforms the surface of the water into a reflection of the sky. The opaline tones are breathtaking.

During the day, the marsh is teeming with life. It is the nursery school for thousands of different kinds of birds, fish, plants and insects. The labyrinth of water trails through it, a mystery known only to seasoned fishermen and devoted boaters. It provides refuge for the body, mind and spirit. With the coming of dusk everything that was busy feeding, hunting and growing, withdraws from those activities and begins to seek out the secret resting places where they go at night. A quiet mysteriousness descends.

In this scene I have tried to capture a bit of the magical moment that occurs when the light becomes more and more violet at the edge of the water and blurs the point in which the sky ends and the water begins. Often as I have watched it happen I have marveled at how it creates a center of light, almost a threshold, across the expanse of sky and water and grass and in my musings I wonder, what would it be like if we could step through it?

"Winter Evening in the Marsh"

acrylic on paper,framed, image is 9 1/4" x 12 1/4"

Winter brings a unique beauty to the world of the marsh. After the heat and intensity of mating and raising young, the cooler months bring a welcome respite. The colors shift from greens and blues to soft brown, gold, then into grey and mauve and lavender. Without the press of crowds and summer living, the wetlands sigh back into themselves. It is a beautiful and restorative time for the marsh as well as those who are fortunate enough to be there.

"Resolution"

acrylic on canvas, unframed, 24" x 36"

Storms represent a powerful metaphor for change. While they are at times thrilling, they can also be terrifying and destructive. And,because they are a force of nature, they remain one of the few things in this world that mankind has been unable to control.

Most of us don't really care for change and certainly not catastrophic change, but it happens to us anyway. We lose our jobs, those we love, fall ill for reasons we cannot understand. It is a terrible place to be. But as I grow older I am believing more and more that it is just such events that move us off one path and onto another. Change brings new choices, new experiences along with the struggle and heartache and a resolution of how we used to be.

"The Floor of Heaven"

acrylic on canvas, museum wrap, 48"x60"

I love the sky. I never seem to tire of looking at it; noticing it's colors, the clouds, the light. I find it enormously restful. That it covers everything is deeply comforting. It's the one thing no matter where we live, we all share in common. We all live together and don't realize it, underneath one continuous stretch of airy gauze.

People who live in close connection to the earth have an intimate relationship with the sky. Why is that? Is it because it covers everything? and what comes from it or is in it, cannot be controlled?

Why is it that all cultures look UP for their connection to the numinous?

Why is it call ed so eloquently and movingly, 'the floor of heaven'?

In the opening pages of her beautiful poem "Leaf and Cloud", Mary Oliver quotes these lines from John Ruskin:

"We have seen that when the earth had to be prepared for the habitation of man, a veil, as it were, of intermediate being was spread between him and its darkness, in which were joined, in a subdued measure, the stability and the insensibility of the earth, and the passion and perishing of mankind.
But the heavens, also, had to be prepared for his habitation.
Between their burning light,---their deep vacuity, and man, as between the earth's gloom of iron substance, and man, a veil had to be spread of intermediate being;---which should appease the unendurable glory to the level of human feebleness, and sign the changeless motion of the heavens with a semblance of human vicissitude.
Between the earth and man arose the leaf. Between the heaven and man came the cloud. His life being partly as the falling leaf, and partly as the flying vapour."

From Modern Painters, vol. V, part VII, ch. 1

Perhaps that's it..it is the veil between ourselves and what is else.

"Summer Storm"

acrylic on canvas, framed, image is "36x48"

This image comes from an event at Fripp Island one summer with my family when our boys were little. One afternoon while we were all down at the beach a storm moved in like a gigantic dark velvet curtain swallowing the sky. We stood in wonder as the huge thunderhead swept towards us, until the force of the wind turned the sand into tiny knives. I remember we picked up the children to protect them from the sand as we ran for cover. The rain arrived right behind the wind, creating a glycerine sheer to the billowing dark cloud curtain.

In recalling the storm, I remember so clearly how it rolled over us. No sooner had we gathered the children and started running than it was upon us, drenching us with rain and in almost the same moment, passing on. By the time we reached cover, it was gone. We hardly had time to watch it, only to run for safety.

We've all had experiences that sweep over us during our lifetimes. Some are exhilarating, some painful, but I believe all noticed or not, carry the seeds of transformation. Often there is little time to do more than run for cover. Sometimes all we can muster is to run for shelter. But there are other times when for some mysterious reason, we are open to the moment. We are able to see in what is happening to us the potential for our lives. It is those special times when we open ourselves to the possibility of growth and change.

"Holy Ground"

acrylic on paper, framed, image is 23"x30"

"Make of yourself a light" - Buddha

I have always considered the swamp to be a special place. I love the water, such an incredible mixture of black, green, blue, gold. I love the tall trees with their cypress knees clustering around them looking for all the world like monks at their feet. When I enter one I always feel that I have crossed a border into the shadow lands where the mind's intricate 'knowiness' has no jurisdiction. The swamp is a world unto itself: secret, brooding, unknowable.

When we try to listen to the God in us, we create an opportunity to experience the profound, to witness grace. Allowing ourselves to become intimate with natural places makes space within us for those mysterious encounters to happen. I believe those moments have the possibility of changing us forever. When we cross back over into our everyday lives we are different. When I was younger, I longed for the clarity of direction found in a Damascus Road experience. I wanted my life laid out for me on 3x5 cards so I could follow along. Or, as Woody Allen remarked: "I wish God would give me a clear sign, like making a large deposit in a Swiss bank account in my name." Years later and much further down the road of life's experiences, I have come to believe that it is the journey that is so priceless. If life were given to us on those 3x5 cards, there would be no point in the living of it. All the experiences, all the decisions we worry over, the choices we make, what I love to call the really juicy, tasty bits--all of it--is a life. It is all a Damascus Road; moment after moment; some more vivid than others, but all inexorably pulling us into our deep self.

Although, I must admit, I wouldn't mind the Swiss bank account too.

"No Sky Could Hold So Much Light"

acrylic on canvas,framed, image is "44 x 56"

No sky could hold

so much light--

and hear comes the brimming,

the flooding and streaming

Mary Oliver 'Harvest Moon'

A lot of times when I am out on the beach during a full moon, I experience this strong sensation of needing to lie down and look up. There is something about the light, the moon and waves, that literally 'knocks me off my feet'. Does that happen to you?

This painting to me, isn't really only about the moon. It's more about what it does to the water and sand. It's about the shoreline and the way the waves are spilling themselves upon it. I can feel the shine of the sand and water in my heart.

I struggle with these night ocean scenes. There is a part of me that wonders if they belong on a velvet canvas for sale at the Exxon station on the corner along with those ones of Elvis. Using iridescent paints which are so difficult to capture with a camera only heightens my anxiety. But they still insist on being painted and they are beautiful to me. Who among us has stood on the shore under a full moon and not marveled at the extraordinary brilliance of the night time sky? The sand glistens, the little ghost crabs are out scurrying everywhere. The light, goodness the light, seems to absorb everything, even our voices. They sound distant, almost cottony. The ocean looks like it has been washed in glycerin and there is no telling where the horizon meets the water or where the aura of moonlight leaves off and the blackness of the heavens begins.

I believe that moonlight over the ocean exists in part to remind us of our place in this world. We are not as in charge as we would like to think. Thank goodness.