Jack, a painter, an artist who embraces giving back to the system, loathes fakes, government subconscious control and TV. Touching finger to forehead, he says, "Remove ego and the ability of distorting art with flamboyant verbal foolery and you just might find an artist."
Fire rings, recent and ancient, telling tales of today's wheeled campers and yesterday's indigenous nomads. One particular circle of rocks, undisturbed, ashes within long dissolved by weather calls me, "Sit and listen." Snapping a few branches from the creosote bush that is now home within the ring I touch a match to dry tinder . Who last warmed or cooked here? How long ago? A hundred years, a thousand, more? This is indigenous country, CRIT, Colorado River Indian Tribes. My mind wanders, imagination flames.
No comments:
Post a Comment