March 21, 2001: Unannounced angel

I never know when a painting is finished—then, from out of nowhere…I feel the up pencil shadings, I’ve taken the steps to make nothing into something. If I could, I would one day like to turn my nothing into something into the missing piece of the puzzle—the music I hear while slowly evolving nothing into something. A self, without the mask—a true person armed at being, rather than pretending. It’s I…me, the son of the wind, cousin of the soil and brother to all living trees—for I’m the stone which protects without covering his face with a mask.