these works are a way of repairing, an offering and a form of prayer
they are about questioning and the acceptance of not knowing
they teach me and I follow
they reflect my inner and outer life
piecing together a loved one’s psyche
think of them as a cat. I cannot know their mind
I can offer saucers of milk
I grew up the daughter of an airline pilot
I contrast thick oil paint of earth and ground to thin washes of air and sky
a large clean tarp on the painting wall the fold marks making a soft grid
a moment of magic in the studio
of accident, intention and incident
the paintings are alive and ever changing
checkered farmland as seen from the air
facets of a loved one’s psyche
orbs in Brazil with a shaman
the view outside my studio window
unprimed linen reinforcing their transience
they are an exhalation of ego, leaving a soft breath
— Barbara Laube