Embodied

I order piles of thick paper, more hand

made inks in luscious hues and tints of red.

When I have the energy, I make

one small painting after another. Free

from setting goals, I use brushes, rags, spray bottles,

a spread or drip down the page creates

a sense of grace, fluidity. I take a

line for a walk, a whirl, a frenzy. I work

with immediacy, a direct relationship of hand to process.

I embrace chance.

I close my eyes and clearly see a saturation of red,

I imagine some pink. A thin lined brush suggests a body,

black opaque scribbling holds the remnant presence

of what is no longer there.

There is a pulse, a raging of chemicals inside me.

This is what it takes to have something to say.