Paying attention to what I can. Simple things. No one else is up yet.
It really is all about the light. It reflects off the red bark of the Madrona trees and the seed heads of
the grasses. Everything is tinged with the moisture of the Salish Sea.
And I thought I don't need to draw a tree or try to imitate this perfection. All my landscapes are internal. My textiles are a net to capture tiny beasts and furtive feelings. My sculptures are what crawls out endlessly.
And then I thought. There is a difference between a performance and a silent reflection. The difference for the need for the external and the internal. And what is true perfection.
I don't need to show my beauty. Or bejewel what is there. Because it is perfect. The life and death of it. I keep it hidden from sight because it is too beautiful to show. It is so precious that the light would carry it away.