It is a drift of little black paper cuttings on the floor.
It is piles of sheet paper with coffee table books keeping them flat.
It is hand exercises and a new crush on Mary Azarian and the Farmers Alphabet.
It is a fat, happy envelope from a gallery, and then sooo many hours spent lost in a
design program that my eyes go bloodshot and the show cards have to wait.
It is also the movement of hands across paper, trying to translate everything I know
about a wave into form. From ocean nights high in the rolling rigging of sailing
ships, and bodysurfing in golden glinting froth in Baja, and watching from the pebble
beach that once was home.
From the roil to the ripple, how does it taste and feel and smell and leave me different.
If I wrap all of that into such a simple picture, will it somehow show through?
How gows the work? It goes well, busy. Rich and full.
Today I finished a piece for 2 good friends who run around outside, climbing and
biking and skiing, higher, further, more. They met and were engaged and married in
mountain towns across the world. Now love lives with them in the Methow Valley.
Another year, another mountain shared.
SEE the top image in Shared is the Sea, this October in Port Townsend