Wolf Moon sold during my show at Hughes Gallery in January, along with nine other paintings. We were off to a roaring season. Then Covid19 arrived and the island gallery shuttered their doors. Perhaps for the rest of the season.
And even though I have a solo show scheduled in late June at Cheryl Newby gallery in South Carolina, I paint little, maybe a few hours a day.
A silence hovers over our land. A candle burns and I pray.
For months I have a shoulder pain that keeps me up most of the night. In between, I dream of summer songs and sunny days and hold conversations with people here and gone. My appointment with the orthopedic surgeon like others not urgent keeps being pushed back. I understand. All things in their own time.
For most of my of my life I painted, journaled and asked questions of God. In the solitude of my studio I return to the solace of books; the Bible, I Ching, Rumi, Emerson, Thoreau and Thich Nhat Hanh. I no longer ask questions. Only observe the Light, and remember Grace and Gratitude.
My spiritual practice, manifested in my art, connects me to all natural things. Awe and respect of nature swing my muse in a merry dance. I hear the spring birds singing, and hope stirs in birdsong and greening leaves. The divine perfume of beloved white lilies envelopes my studio. The full moon draws the tide high, is drawing my soul out of the deep. New paintings are coming. Celestial and true.
Wolf moon rose again this past January. I was there at the edge of the sea, marking its arrival in my sketchbook.
Inspiring life is birthing in the silence. Indeed, the resurrection of Hope.
But for now, I ain’t going nowhere.
Happy Easter, my friend.