“THE ROAD”, 1984, 3″ x 5″, pigment on wool flannel

This piece was done years before I ever came to Santa Fe.

And yet, it has all the elements of my life today in the high desert.

Living here as I do with a good number of Native Americans, I wonder at the presence of what have become recurrent symbols in my art over the years.

Since I can remember, circles and spirals and snakes and the grid as well as obvious layering and ladders have populated my art.

These same symbols are key in the Native world as well.

Earth-worshiping people.

Those for whom intelligence gleaned from the swamp and molecular make up of minerals or the elegant sidewinding of reptiles through barely disturbed grass are their hymns.

The circle keeps calling me.

It has been my most reliable companion over the years.

Do you think that pathetic?

The gift of no beginning, no end…. does that not level the pesky grasping of a thousand Christmases?

Yes indeed… there is some finely orchestrated plan I’m in the middle of.

Something somewhere with a monocle gripped over an eye looking over my list and nicking off trials and tests and bundles of grace and ‘”AHA!’s” as I meander down my road, broken and rebuilt so many times.

I’m so damn glad I heard the directions whispered one day way back when to leave everything I knew for sure behind and get my butt out here to New Mexico.

I plopped myself down smack in the middle of the most interesting of spirals.

It never matters if the direction I move is inward or out along it’s path.. the meal I’m served is always fine tuned to my palate.

And still I am hungry.


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