Turquoise Soul
40" x 19" / acrylic, macaw feathers, copper wire, turquoise beads on wood board / $850
Dream of a Winged God
Above is an ocean of cerulean blue.
Cliffs formed from layers of sand and story rising to greet the sky
A solitary wind howls and moans.
The wind’s voice seems to carry the sound of a name that I cannot quite hear.
I am holding my son’s hand and we are walking through this pregnant canyon
There is a slight pause,
an irregular beat in the rhythm of space
It is enough to reveal that we are in the land of dreams
Off in the distance I see a large bird soaring through the open sky.
The great bird approaches
my mind tries to comprehend the truth of the message that my eyes continue to send.
As the distance between us closes, the illusion fades in its entirety and I am left standing in the presence of an approaching god.
In his wings span the centuries of time
painted in the flame of turquoise, gold, white and copper
Trails of wind left by his soaring wings push down upon us with the force of a gale.
In passage of the wind from his wings is a song that sings of the deepest rivers of sadness.
In the passage of the wind from his wings is the hope for a people and of a place.
In the passage of his wings are the threads of songs that are unraveling and forgotten – lost in the holes of time.
In the passage of the wind from his wings is an embrace, which holds the breath of hope – eternal return
Tears swell from in ancient eternal river and I weep at the aching love story,
An ancient, rooted song so old and so fragile,
As the feathers of his wings brush by my head,
he rises and shoots straight into the painted sky.
The sky opens and an emblem of beauty is revealed.
Ancient symbols dancing to form a magical portal, a door.
Designs formed from the color of clouds, gilded feathers, stones that sing, and the metal made from stars receive him into the heavens from which he came.
I am left in the wake of a passing deity
holding my small son’s small hand
Listening to the wind echo the lament and sadness that has been conveyed by his proximity.
The wind’s voice seems to carry the sound of a name that I cannot quite hear.
…blowing through the canyon from the time in the memory of before.
Cliffs formed from layers of sand and story rising to greet the sky
A solitary wind howls and moans.
The wind’s voice seems to carry the sound of a name that I cannot quite hear.
I am holding my son’s hand and we are walking through this pregnant canyon
There is a slight pause,
an irregular beat in the rhythm of space
It is enough to reveal that we are in the land of dreams
Off in the distance I see a large bird soaring through the open sky.
The great bird approaches
my mind tries to comprehend the truth of the message that my eyes continue to send.
As the distance between us closes, the illusion fades in its entirety and I am left standing in the presence of an approaching god.
In his wings span the centuries of time
painted in the flame of turquoise, gold, white and copper
Trails of wind left by his soaring wings push down upon us with the force of a gale.
In passage of the wind from his wings is a song that sings of the deepest rivers of sadness.
In the passage of the wind from his wings is the hope for a people and of a place.
In the passage of his wings are the threads of songs that are unraveling and forgotten – lost in the holes of time.
In the passage of the wind from his wings is an embrace, which holds the breath of hope – eternal return
Tears swell from in ancient eternal river and I weep at the aching love story,
An ancient, rooted song so old and so fragile,
As the feathers of his wings brush by my head,
he rises and shoots straight into the painted sky.
The sky opens and an emblem of beauty is revealed.
Ancient symbols dancing to form a magical portal, a door.
Designs formed from the color of clouds, gilded feathers, stones that sing, and the metal made from stars receive him into the heavens from which he came.
I am left in the wake of a passing deity
holding my small son’s small hand
Listening to the wind echo the lament and sadness that has been conveyed by his proximity.
The wind’s voice seems to carry the sound of a name that I cannot quite hear.
…blowing through the canyon from the time in the memory of before.
Feather and Turquoise Detail
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Bead and Copper Wire Detail
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