“When Stillness Learned to Speak” is built from twenty-five 6x6 microstate panels adhered to a stretched canvas; the piece carries a literal heaviness—but even more so, it holds the layered mystery that emerged as I worked. Much of the imagery arrived intuitively. I often find that my gestures when applying paint mediums over vintage pattern tissue create serendipitous forms, guiding me more than I guide them.

The tangerine-rust figure on the left carries a second face arising from its chest—its heart center—while a yellow guide or angel offers something directly toward its throat chakra. On the far left, faint shadow-guides (yet not evil shadow--more meaning where the light gets through) watch quietly. Their interaction appeared quickly, and I felt charged with its meaning. It was as though I was witnessing a moment rather than inventing one.

And then there are the fish—a symbol that returns often in my work, much to my chagrin. I don’t care for fish or deep water. But they keep surfacing, swimming into the composition as if insisting on being part of the conversation.

I observed how to gaze between the figures felt focused and reciprocal—an exchange, a transmission, a kind of spiritual speech. A speech not made with words. In the bottom right, a dried acrylic paint peel formed, looking like a silhouetted, tiny figure drifting in its own dream. It made me wonder if the whole piece is a dreamscape that I needed to re-member.

As an avid meditator, I believe that when we become still enough—when we quiet the psychic static—we can hear truth, guidance, and love. I think that this piece came from that place. My Good Srtist Self hopes that the message feels universal, inviting each viewer to listen for what their stillness may be saying to them.