It is crunchy and obscure.
Life continues and I leave a trail of color washes, drips, graphite chiaroscuro , dry scalp and expressions of psychological uneasiness.
Where does this growth matter come from? The air? Dirt? Whispers of sweetness? All this strength and beauty seems to make itself out of nothing.
I am fascinated.
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And now for a random photo of a snow face. I did this in January after a light snow. If I did anything now, it would have to be a sculpture. We have a good buildup and it looks beautiful despite my hatred of cold and having to drive in it.
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