Wood speaks to me. It leads me to where it wants to go. The eyes appear and from there the Soul of the painting comes to life. Often it speaks in a caw or distant howl. And sometimes, like the woosh of the wind. There is something profound and wise in its tone. I know it comes from within - channeled from the force of Light, of moon, sun, or stars. Whatever it is, it wants to come out - like a prayer. Holy and One, for the one it seeks.
My medium is my hands. I like to Feel my art. Both literal and emotional. I am drawn to found objects, scraps of wood, and nature itself. I like the splish-splash of water. The effects of a garden hose sprayed on drying paint and how my fingers feel rough against the grain, carving out images with splattered globs of paint. I am fond of chalk, spray-paint, and sharpie —anything that can scribble what I hear in spontaneous downloads. I am more like a graffitist for my muse, loyal to my subject’s philosophies, poetic verses, and insights.
