My Father Was A Painter And He

Although My Grandmother Lived Out Her Long Life In The Shadow Of Rainy Mountian, The Immense Landscape Of The Continental Interior Lay Like Memory In Her Blood

A Word Has Power In And Of Itself. It Comes From Nothing Into Sound And Meaning; It Gives Origin To All Things.

They Have Assumed The Names And Gestures Of Their Enemies, But Have Held On To Their Own, Secret Souls; And In This There Is A Resistance And An Overcoming, A Long Outwaiting.

In The Beginning Was The Word, And It Was Spoken.

I Am Interested In The Way That We Look At A Given Landscape And Take Possession Of It In Our Blood And Brain. None Of Us Lives Apart From The Land Entirely; Such An Isolation Is Unimaginable. If We Are To Realize And Maintain Our Humanity, We Must Come To A Moral Comprehension Of Earth And Air As It Is Perceived In The Long Turn Of Seasons And Of Years.