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October 2013

This drawing seems to indicate that I am still processing my recent round trip drive across Pennsylvania; tree covered mountains, wide rivers, and long stretches of interstate highway.


The thing you know, the thing you want to have, the place you are trying to get to, the obsessive thought that won't go away, the reason for the anxiety, the point of all logic, what is evoked from rites and rituals, the end of the path, the thing that is supposed to happen if all the rules are followed, the thing you'll eventually understand, the thing that if it would just happen everything would be okay, the thing that descends from the myth, the nest, the mist, what will emerge from the darkness, what you awaken into, the fruits of true belief, the reward for a life lived well, the philosopher's stone, nirvana, moksha, total security, peace of mind, and love.

Cultivating my tree for all living things.


Resonating outside the gritty world.

Facing change more openly exposes me to more changes but softens my responses.



One breath in,
three thoughts arise,
attention wavers,
identity takes hold,
stories are told.


I can feel the emptiness, I know it is there, I mean here, right next to me, just over my shoulder, in amongst things, waiting to be discovered.

Crossing the great divide.

It has been over a year since I've opened a show. Tomorrow I leave the solitary studio mindset and showtime starts! I am still surprised that a show in a museum or New York City gallery is not the the most exciting part of the job, is not the reward for months of labor that it would seem to be.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the opportunity to show and sell work.

The mindset of showing art is very different from the studio headspace of making and discovery. Personal doubt, demands for explanations, unmet expectations, and finalizing details of the exhibition space are all things that don't enter the studio practice - oh, and looking at the same work and not new work. Tomorrow I will cross the divide after a year of studio focus and with a second show scheduled in November I will probably not be fully back in the flow of deep studio creative practice until January. Which is why the daily drawing practice is so important, rest assured, even if the path gets narrow the spirit is kept alive.


In the blurred perception of driving long distances, visiting family, keeping the kids in balance, fast food, different coffee, new beds, interupted routine, and trying not to miss anything; the brief pause, a timeless moment, for practice, for touching the infinite, for making pencil marks on paper, is the bedrock of my world.



Noting nervous energy.


Road trip home.

Friction during re-entry.

I often wonder why the human race has not
evolved to be naturally enlightened?

And I think one answer is that we are born
in clear light but the struggles between energy
and matter, desire and aversion, hot and cold,
hunger and greed, and just the stress of daily life,
all muddy the waters and create the turbulence in the flow.


Cold dances in.


A Bowl of Earth

Looking through my studio window,
body, mind, and breath settled,
sitting and waiting for images to arise,
drifting between inner reflections and post peak autumn views,
my sweater against the cold feeling heavy on my arms,
the last tall blade of grass sheding its seeds into the wind,
tables and chairs now cool to my touch,
the woods noticeably more transparent,
my mood noticeably lighter,
I consider and appreciate
the creativity of the dwindling season
and the perfection of the natural response.


I let some of my late summer radishes remain in the ground and they got really huge and flowered. Yesterday my daughter and I picked a hatful of the dried brown pods that we found hidden in the overgrown leaves, cracked them open, and collected at least as many radish seeds as we had originally planted.


There is a trace of realization that cannot be grasped.
We endlessly express the ungraspable trace of realization.

-Dogen from Genjokoan

. . . aftershock

Wall of cold. The temperature dwindles and the light dims until today I notice I am slow, hungry, and in need of sleep. Will my fascination with my natural responses keep me warm through the winter?