Art gives me another way of knowing, of listening to the shapes I see in front of me. I'm sitting in the Natural History Museum, holding a sanguine pencil, waiting for the language of zebra to move me, move my hand, take me to a blissful oasis where my eye and mind become so integrated that the separation between myself, my pencil, and the zebra disappears.
I follow the intricate flow of black and white markings, not just the surface lines and tones, but the powerful form of the horse underneath, and feel as if I am dancing for pure joy. No effort, no thought, simply the underlying logic of form pouring onto the page.
This is my vocabulary of vision, an intimate encounter with the language of form, the infinite aspects of light, and the mysterious process of perception.
