song

All the years I’ve looked at this ridge above Maes Creek, I’ve seen a woman lying back singing. This particular autumn morning, mist silhouetted her perfectly.

The first painting in this series that I came to call "song," was a mystery to me. I didn’t recognize its relationship to the singing mountain until much, much later, until long after it had spawned a whole series of equally mysterious duets.

How influence bides its time. If we catch on, it’s a nice surprise.