About the Art
The bend of a thumb, the twist of a wrist, the fleshy, curving interior of a palm – these are the words of a whispery, gestural language. Hands reach, withdraw, hold, offer, contain. With fragments of text, they hint of vows, rituals, meditations, of personal losses and yearnings. They speak of the emptiness to be filled, an exquisite wholeness in the hole of the palm. Little things I can hold in my hand land right in my painting - shells, stones, bones, rulers, spoons.
Be it a hand or full human figure, I find that yoga postures contain worlds of meaning, embodied in a simple pose where the psycho-spiritual finds perfect expression in the physical. Yoga’s contortions paradoxically stretch the body into a stillness. Its ineffable sensations are like a golden other-worldliness, a personal place where millennia of eastern and western traditions merge. To me, arching Romanesque edges suggest altarpieces and the universal round. East, west – and everywhere else – are all found at the quiet center.
