Quiet time

I find myself constantly chasing a child-like mental clarity. This memory comes to mind when I was about 6 or 7, spending a summer's day at a lake smashing rocks with water to make face paint. I worked all day loving the consistency and how the rock broke down, smearing it all over my body, not caring about anything but what I was doing. Something about rock beds and water systems makes adult stresses diminish. Looking at those surroundings of the landscape, insects, water flowing, plants, flowers, patterns in the river rocks. I like to take them to my art process; this gives me small adult moments of that childhood clarity of existence. I love the feeling and the sound of the pastel strokes going across the paper painting the patterns of the rock formations. Memorized by the effects of sliding one color over the other to make Montana's river rock's ketching shapes and patterns.