Saturday, May 19, 2012
With a single strand of reed from a billabong and a few jars of paint, Eric is able to weave a tapestry of his life and that of his country and ancestors in a slow and patient rigor that is beyond most of us. When he paints he is painting for a culture, his family and his decendents. The image forms is clear in its meaning. The story is as old as his culture. It is his dreaming which was that of his father and his father's father. His son's will dream in the same vivid way: he hopes.
He also paints for the tourists. He, like all artists, need to eat as well.
at May 19, 2012
The fishing boat rises and falls on the turbulent blue-black sea. One moment I see it, riding high. The next it is barely visible...
What's it like to be someone else? To be young, thoughtful, blessed With possibilities, most probable, ready For all that life can o...
My thoughts are elsewhere, moving faster than I, with more grace and determination. The thoughts move in the past where a young man ling...