With the full power of the moon behind her, this woman invokes clarity.
But clarity does not necessarily arrive quickly, in an easily
discernible package, hovering just above our gaze before wrapping us in
its bright tendrils.
Rather, we piece all the various small revelations together, and
begin to fathom a more spacious vision with each shining quilt,
painting or poem that we “complete.”
Perhaps “completion” is not the direction we want to move towards, with its suggestion of closure.
What we really seek is a perpetual opening, a ceaseless unfolding,
until we become so expansive that everything else is part of us, and we
This is on a solid birch panel. It looks like a wrapped canvas.