|I carry in my heart the pain of war. I have seen too
much suffering. The memories bear down upon me. In the studio I have the luxury of
silence. Even though the dolls and mannequins I paint are sometimes dismembered, they do
not writhe and scream out in pain. They sit motionless, yet they are not dead. They dream
of things far beyond them and this world. They are as actors upon a stage.
I but direct this small silent play. From beyond it is written and channeled through me. As I dig through the clutter of boxes full of odds and ends it is as though I am digging through my mind, dredging up the memories that need to be given life so they will no longer haunt me.
I arrange the actors, surrounded by, sometimes buried within their props. From this point on, it is but playing with paint. There is but the sound of the brush as it does its perpetual dance. It does not need me. I am but a hand attached to it. It leads, I follow. We dance out our dreams upon the soft receptive surface of the stretched canvas. When I drift off in the meditative silence, the work is composed.
I am there not as parent but as midwife. It is one of life's rare
pleasures that I am allowed to be in this birthing room observing this mystery. For that
privilege I am eternally thankful.