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Jackfish Creek Oil on Board 22 x 28 in |
Monday, February 29, 2016
Jackfish Creek
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Inspired by the Land
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Wellington Creek Oil on board |
Thursday, November 26, 2015
A Pond of Water by the Woods
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A pond of Water by the Woods Pastel on Paper |
Friday, November 20, 2015
Magical morning
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Sparkling Creek Oil on Board |
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Squash
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Squash Pastel on Paper |
Monday, November 9, 2015
Transitions
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Autumn Abstraction Oil 12 x 12 in. |
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Glorious Autumn Afternoon
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Autumn Afternoon in the hills of Eastend |
Saturday, October 24, 2015
California Poppies
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California Poppies Oil on Cardstock |
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Schist Lake Afternoon
Monday, August 17, 2015
Approaching Storm over Manitou
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Approaching Storm over Manitou Lake Oil 36 x 48 |
This Oil painting was started on the first day of the retreat and depicts a wicked storm coming over the lake. It spawned a twister that you can pick out if you look carefully.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Its a beautiful Spring day and I'm reminded of this poem by Rumi called the Music we Are.
Did you hear that winter is over?
The basil and carnation cannot control their laughter.
The nightingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over all the birds.
The trees reach out their congratulations.
The soul goes dancing through the King's doorway.
Anemones blush because they have seen the Rose naked.
Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom, and several December thieves steal away.
Last years miracles will soon be forgotten.
New creatures whirl in from nonexistence,
galaxies scattered around their feet.
Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?
A single narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector of Kingdoms.
A feast is set. Listen The wind is pouring wine.
Love used to hide inside images. No more. The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, End this poem here, and wait for what is next.
I will, Poems are rough notations for the Music we Are.
Did you hear that winter is over?
The basil and carnation cannot control their laughter.
The nightingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over all the birds.
The trees reach out their congratulations.
The soul goes dancing through the King's doorway.
Anemones blush because they have seen the Rose naked.
Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom, and several December thieves steal away.
Last years miracles will soon be forgotten.
New creatures whirl in from nonexistence,
galaxies scattered around their feet.
Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?
A single narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector of Kingdoms.
A feast is set. Listen The wind is pouring wine.
Love used to hide inside images. No more. The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, End this poem here, and wait for what is next.
I will, Poems are rough notations for the Music we Are.
Monday, May 11, 2015
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Late March Snowscape |
Monday, April 13, 2015
The next best thing to eating cherries
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