Somewhere in Time

Somewhere in time, through a translucent veil of misty light, they come. Ibis move in milky water, weaving their way through a cathedral of mangrove roots, like dancers in a slow, graceful waltz. This I am sure I once saw—or have I only dreamed it?

This scene appears in the sensory universe of my mind, an image unresolved until my brush, laden with color, touches the canvas. Here, emotive shapes and colors spark at the intersection of imagination and memory, like fire drawn from flint and steel.

The artist needs a muse. Neither exists without the other; there is no shadow without the light. Creation is the handmaiden of inspiration. It’s the dreaming and doing that bring forth beauty into the world.

All these many years—a lifetime—I struggled to paint what lay before my eyes. I believed in the truth of visible things in those days. Believed in the taste of tangible beauty; believed there was an answer to every question. Decades I lived this way, until the questions turned to memories, and the memories to mysterious wonders—like the birth-fires of stars wandering across the dark heavens.

And here I come again, a dreamer rambling the foggy shore in the morning sun. All the lovely birds I reached for as the years flew by, and the lingering whispers of their feathery echoes, are all I keep—calling for the Maker of heaven and earth to come down and show me the way.

The primordial glint of silken wings inspired the painting, Somewhere in Time. It emerged from the backwaters of sleepless nights; came when bone-dry leaves rustled in a northern wind, when black coffee spilled into eternal cups, out of neurons, demons, and dreams. Driven by a desire to explore a deeper consciousness of being—a yearning combined with an impulse to abandon knowing, to surrender all thoughts to the supernatural world of my Creator, and simply be in His Light.

By Grace, this is how a painting became.