After that my memory seems to run together like wet paint streaking down a canvas. There was the work, which, at first, was all encompassing. Hours of intense concentration when I forgot to eat or drink and only the sinking of the sun reminded me that I had other needs. Between bouts of working I needed to maintain constant contact with my source material. I’d spend hours wandering through the bush and the pines, adrift on the tides of the life force as it flowed through the living land. I came to know the trees. Their voices were constant, their leaves and branches never still, their mood changing with the shifting of the wind. And always there was a presence, something else that made me feel I was not alone. Then there were dreams, dreams of walking, going to meet someone, perhaps the same someone who was watching me. But I never arrived. I always woke up, and often I’d find myself in front of the mirror. I put it all down to being stressed out. When I was more rested, things would get back to normal.
What do You think about In The Shadow Of The Trees?
