Berry Pickers
We used to go berry picking out at rooks park
in the midst of the blistering August heat
standing on a boulder
tip toe
life hanging in the balance
Ready to risk it all
The rules were simple
You pick until the bucket is full.
I was half your speed on a good day
But no one could doubt my dedication
We would weave our way through briar and bramble
Until you were unable to tell the juice from the blood
If there was any difference at all
Do you remember that time
When the world fell apart around us
And we picked berries as it slowly decided
How it was going to fit back together again?
Finally, with mountains of berries piled high
We walked into the creek bed
letting the cold water run across our forever scarred skin
Hopeful in its power to rinse away all that ailed us
glad to be together
and that there was someone else
with the same scars
Oil on canvas
48 x 48
Do You Remember When We Were Storm Chasers?
On the nights when the air was viscous and alive and dark clouds rolled over what we once thought were mountains and now know to be hills,
your eyes held sparks as you asked if I wanted to go for a drive.
How could you be so brave while I sat next to you, fingers crossed in prayer that the rubber wheels holding our matchbox of a car to the ground would be enough?
Oil on Canvas
18x36
Aromantic
I went out walking in an attempt to answer that most self-absorbed of life’s questions: why am I the way I am?
At first, as I looked out, all I could see was lack. There is a specific grief in losing the safety of convention. In coming to understand the difference between want and the desire to want. Looking into the void that claims to be the crux of humanity, seeing nothing but the ghost of lies past.
And then, remembering I’m an artist, I began to look at the light between the branches. I was taught to see the beauty and complexity of the negative space and the life that exists without. The forest is more than the trees.
It is a quiet thought, but one that has helped that so-called lack take shape, and for today, it’s enough.
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire
There are some places that will always exist, if only in memory.
That vivid shag carpet and La-Z-Boy pointed toward a TV with only two channels will live forever in my mind.
Sitting at the feet of my grandfather,
who taught me how to cheat at every game we ever played,
exploring the boxes of paper dolls and jars full of buttons.
Who could want for more?
Oil on Canvas
18x26
A Moments Repose
For a moment, I exist in the in-between
basking in the rarity of a mind at rest
What do you think about
when you are thinking of nothing at all?
Right now, in the warmth of this tangerine light
I am listening to the soft tinkling of the music of the spheres
and trying to put words to the melody.
Oil on Wood Panel
30x30
On Pender
There was a night I walked laps around these streets
When change was the only certainty.
I was already mourning the life I had built on shaky ground.
How many versions of me walked back through that door, and what meandering paths did they choose?
Now sitting in the privileged perspective of hindsight, I can't help but wonder
where are they now?
oil on canvas
30x30
Underwater
Just below the surface
I took a brief but needed rest.
In the world above,
I was gasping for air,
lungs made smaller
by the confines of dread and doubt.
as the oxygen diffuses in the filaments of hair
I find myself untethered
remembering that long ago
when I learned how to float
and taking respite from the gravity of the situation.
Oil on Wood Panel
24x30
