The faint smell of oil paint and turps on a chill Alaska breeze, in moments I lose myself to the sound of the sea and seabirds, the salt smell of the ocean. Hue and shadow, pallet knife and brush, all working together, I am focused. Every care recedes and I feel like me again.
In the early 1990’s, at our remote homestead on Horse Island, I painted in isolation without judgement except perhaps for some ideal in my subconscious. I feel extremely fortunate to have had this time alone. This independence was deliciously enjoyable and deeply personal. Lonely but never alone.