Breath of Space Series
I can't stop thinking about the Rothko Chapel. The Chapel has marked time for me. Perhaps it affects me deeply because of memories I associate with it. My sister's illness. A good friend's infant's memorial. The first time I saw the Dalai Lama.
My sister died on Christmas Eve. I had never seen death before. I don't really think I have seen death, yet. It doesn't seem real to me.
I watched every breath. I watched so closely and yet I don't know when she left. I was there and I didn't see it. I was counting her breaths and my own at the same time. I would take five breaths before she would take another. It seemed like an eternity would pass in between those breaths.
I feel caught somewhere between Pollock and Rothko. My paintings are full of gestures and marks and yet I seek quiet and spaciousness.
With large acrylic paintings it is my intent to create space—the walls fall away and the art itself becomes the structure. And, the structure holds the vast space between breaths.
Life and Death. The Rothko Chapel. Space within Structure. Christmas Eve.