After painting immersion...
I step out of the stream, my animal body connecting with the forest I live in. I find the Holy Grail in the trumpet of the chantrelle, and the paused twitch of the doe's cupped ear.
Thoughts on painting...
The painting reels me out. When the thin invisible line is slack, I can swim freely, the hook through my lip like an ear piercing. When the line tightens I am reeled in with pain and fury brought face to face with my captor.
Painting is...
my captor, my love, my mirror and my compulsion. Standing on firm ground, I take the Fisher King’s face between my palms and kiss him firmly, eye to eye.