In a painting things just are, with the inevitable feeling of dreams.
The exquisite textures of life are embedded in these soft spaces with hallucinatory realness. Behind the closed eyelid of the canvas, my imagination can run free.
As in a dream, a painting has its own internal logic. Time is subjective, meaning is open to interpretation and pain mingles with joy.
Perhaps my anxious striving can be eased as I gaze into this otherworldly stillness. Perhaps at last I can relinquish control and let myself feel.
For me, these visions are a consoling reflection of how life really is: a tempting mirage, an enchantment, a waking dream.