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“I try to remember the glowing single scarlet tree caught by the late afternoon sun, the gentle movement of grasses just beyond the edge of my vision.  My ears ache from the cold wind that gust off the marsh.  I taste the sald of the air.  The call of a crow is sharp against the grey quiet.

     “As a child I spent much precious time with my beloved grandfather, walking through the fields and forest surrounding his home, learning the lore of the woods.  I was taught to move quietly among the trees, to listen, see and feel my surroundings.  Miraculously beautiful wildflowers, stones, grasses were revealed.  The perfume of sweetfern crushed between fingers, the haunting song of a wood thrush, a wintergreen leaf, smooth and hard, bitter and minty, are things deeply imprinted upon my being.  An ancient uprooted tree with massive trunk horizontal and twisted roots reaching skyward tweaked my imagination.  The softly dark and shadowy woods; the comfort and mystery.

     “In my work I try to reawaken these memories, to engage many senses.  The tall, dry grasses softly rustle at the edge of a sun drenched field.  A redwing calls, evergreens and cool shadows are beyond.  I smell the cool, rising damp of the air as I enter the woods.  The tips of ferns softly tickle my fingertips.  There are things sensed, unseen.  One must be

still, listen and feel.  There is a ripple just below the surface of things, a rustling in the shadow, something indefinable, passing through.  Sacred places.

     “My emotional and spiritual connections with the landscape are founded in these memories.  Solace, exhilaration, mystery.” (Resume available upon request)