post 57:

by Carol Bass


60″ x 60″

India Ink, Oil Stick, and Acrylic on Baltic Birch

Some ghost of myself or someone, maybe Hafiz, wandering in a space of no trees, and warmth, passing souls along the way to a far away diffused light. Weightless and with humor and joy and the immediacy of love bathing the skin.
One answer is breathing and painting. Soon enough no painting. And family may be glad for they can walk into the house without bumping into and knocking over the works. But then again, these fumbling visual poems do bring smiles and make connections that all of us desire.
It is what it is.