It had been more than a fortnight since I had encountered my dear friend, Mr. Pye. As he lived alone, I made it my purpose and pleasure to ride out to his cozy, creekside cottage on the Far Road to make certain that he was...
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So many things that we think we see are actually collective memories of what we have seen intricately woven into an abstract that we can easily see, understand, and describe. Sometimes I think the singular task of the artist is to simplify. No matter...
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September 24, 2018 I spent a long while this past week standing in or walking beside the river . . . Autumn is arriving to the Eastern Sierra. The cottonwoods are quilting with yellow patches, and the aspens in the high valleys and descending creeks...
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I had a Nightmare last night– It was the worst one I’ve had. But now looking back, It wasn’t really that bad. I mean, apart from the eyes That surrounded its head– And the claw-like hands That...
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“Before we take to sea, we walk on land . . . Before we create we must understand.” —E. Hemingway My father was my first art teacher. He was a World War II veteran who, like many other young boys, put down a baseball...
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Said the Oddmentation to the Butterfly, The holiday is over now, so I can go back to where I belong, and he sighed deeply. But-but where is that? stuttered the Butterfly (which is how butterflies talk when they are caught up and fluttering in a...
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