This week-end I headed for Mont-Tremblant to escape the extreme heat of the city. I brought a pile of smaller paintings and set up under a tree at Place de la Gare in the old village.
I stayed with a friend who lives in a magical cabin perched amongst the rocks along the edge of a lake. There is no road to this little piece of wilderness bliss so she came to
pick me up in her small motorboat every evening.
I was happy to visit with my friends, the rocks and roots again. They had much to tell me and I loved listening to the silence of their textures and crevices.
As the days grew hotter, plunging into the lake was like slipping into a cool, silk gown, refreshing for body, mind and soul.
"Crying Lake" was painted one week before I encountered this lake. Did I paint the lake into my reality? or did the lake beckon me? When does the imaginal realm cross over?
"Crying Lake" was painted one week before I encountered this lake. Did I paint the lake into my reality? or did the lake beckon me? When does the imaginal realm cross over?
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| Liminal Space / Sacred Space | ||||
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| Crying Lake / 16" x 20" / acrylic on panel board |
Sometimes painting is a magical, mystical ride.
