Sense of Place

It takes a lot of dreaming to understand a stretch of still water. – Gaston Bachelard

When I move into the liminal realm of my surroundings I can hear: the stories of the trees; the hills and countryside; the objects and buildings. Something / someone calls to me, beckoning, asking me to be a witness. Churches speak… halls whisper… a curve in a road shouts — I must quickly respond by making an image. Trees watch, silent Sentinels guarding all who pass by. Vines moan, trying to resist the end of their hibernation. Cacti dance when they think we are not looking. It is seeing through the veil and seeing into the essence of the natural and man-made world. Dreaming, imagining and beguiled by the songs surrounding us.

Sense of Place

It takes a lot of dreaming to understand a stretch of still water. – Gaston Bachelard

When I move into the liminal realm of my surroundings I can hear: the stories of the trees; the hills and countryside; the objects and buildings. Something / someone calls to me, beckoning, asking me to be a witness. Churches speak… halls whisper… a curve in a road shouts — I must quickly respond by making an image. Trees watch, silent Sentinels guarding all who pass by. Vines moan, trying to resist the end of their hibernation. Cacti dance when they think we are not looking. It is seeing through the veil and seeing into the essence of the natural and man-made world. Dreaming, imagining and beguiled by the songs surrounding us.