Grounded in fragments of stillness, bounded by the memory and mystery of the landscape of the American West. I am forever anchored in this place of my birth with its high desert plains, wide open spaces, and silence as far as the eye can see. Words fail me | images come from long forgotten memories | historical maps merge with blurred landscapes | crows and horses roam free.
The number 9 builds and bends in on itself with symmetry and grace as each increment of 09 builds toward 90. Not long ago the moon splashed across my bed waking me up. Laying there in the moonlight I recalled reading that it takes approximately 18 years for the moon to cycle through the night sky. The moonlight splashing across my bed was last in this exact location 18 years ago. Where was I at 9 years and 18 | where might I be at 81 and 90? I think now of my life unfolding in 18 year cycles, each one of growth and discovery. As I move into the fifth cycle I wonder what transformation and discovery awaits.