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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