A slow steady rain lulls me into a relaxed state of mind and although I try to think about writing, I keep forgetting the logic of words and slip into the nonverbal world where all art is born. Most of us have been there even though we are at a loss to explain where there is or how we arrived or returned. It is a journey that can sometimes be accomplished in an instant; at other times no amount of travail will free us from our structured, regulated, over-defined, mechanical world-view and we long for that place where walls of definition and separation tumble down and new visions flow into our mind without effort. There, the rules that we use to define ( create ) our reality are suspended and anything is possible or everything is possible. This womb of creativity is the world of the mystic and madman and no artist can work there. The vision must be brought back to the world of pigment and pen to be created, although recreated would be a more accurate expression. Great art is merely the clearest memories of those who have traveled into the world as it is instead of the world as we think it to be.
Sunset copyright D Lewis 2008
A month-long voyage to the Arctic Ocean along the coast of Norway, an evening looking at the rocky coastline of southern California, and a day of watching gulls on a beach in Florida all combine in Sunset. In our everyday world it is an imaginary scene but perhaps it is real since I found it hiding under my digital paint brush as I moved it.
Soar copyright D Lewis 2008
The Path copyright D Lewis 2008
Soar and The Path are brush-memories of places I visit often, although I don’t know where or when they are and have not found them yet.
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