My life on The Mesa is in rhythm and full of ritual: grinding wheat, kneading dough, moving rocks, gathering wood, lighting the fire.
No wasted motion - all part of my truth and devotion.
Being present in this place is my work.
The Rio Grande flows a few miles to our East; the 600-foot deep Gorge carves its way through this rugged and delicate landscape.
Ringed by junipers and piñon, our surroundings are powerful and full of mystery. Behind us, a hidden river with petroglyph walls. In front, a Buddhist Stupa signals the way home.
An owl hoots. A yucca bursts into bloom. The songbirds flutter and rest. I glimpse a coyote; it disappears into the land ... awakens me at night.
I watch as a storm builds in the sky. Once again, I surrender into this space. My artwork fills itself with clouds.