Sunday, November 22, 2009

meditation on flying

To California and back. And out. And back.
Feeling like a yoyo, swinging to the end of my tether and back again.

But I never get tired of looking at the surface of the earth from 30.000 feet. So many scars and marks from another time. Old dried up lakes and rivers. Dried up ranches or farms, vast areas that were once watered and now are not. Straight, beam straight, roads cutting across wrinkled landscape.....all making a kind of earth language on the surface.

It is a time to think. The engines droning, passengers asleep or reading, my own book open before my glazed eyes....all thought turned inward. Flying is a time of meditation.......a time that is inbetween time and doesn't really seem to exist at all. All buckled up and cosseted in....a pause between bustle.

Then arriving and the noise and craziness escalates..........back to earth and time in time again.

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swamp, 55" x 29"

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flying fish, 55" x 29"

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I am living and painting in the little town of Houston. A far way from my San Francisco beginnings. I paint what I see of the human condition, be it human, animal or object. The glimmer of humor, pathos, and spirit in so much of what I see is the basis of what I paint.

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