I did more work on this and ruined it. This is my attempt to save it.
11×14 pen & Ink, watercolor.
But are these powers real? you ask. Real, as imagination is real, as the world opens to us, yes, and we live within our wonder. Within—not outside examining, measuring, weighing from the cyclic year of endless drought, but timeless, or timeleaping making memories, our lives out of dreams—outing our dreams and finding them in things, the things we make and do: in poems, in art, in the work of our bodies. Now and then it happens, and we don’t know what it is that has happened—a feather and a sash on a walking stick becomes or was both dream and waking action, know it by how it persists, endures, the dream that comes again changing forms, begging recognition, understanding… not in explanation or translation (so called, interpretation), but in following where it leads.
#65 61x61cm Arcrylic on wood, with paint can lids, wood strips, paper street dirt.
I scrape curbside dirt with its bits of glass, fine gravel and shreds of this and that for texture and modulation on wet paint. Framed with wood from an abandoned building.
$68 November Alleghenies. 28x98cm Rusted metal cabinet door, dirt, twigs acrylic
$74 76x13x32 cm. Auto bumper from car accident with acrylic shadows.