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I close my eyes and a banquet of wordless delight lies before me. What to do with these treasures? I pick up a brush, a sponge, a knife, and turn to the pristine canvas that is waiting for revelation. For one second, the canvas is all potential. In the next second, the first stroke of color awakens the stark whiteness, and the journey begins. The painting is a partnership between the canvas and me. At the same time, there is the unknown mover who whispers in my ear, and directs my hand. What will it be?

Hours, days or weeks later, the canvas is complete, and my question comes: What is your name? I lean close to hear the reply that sometimes comes right away, and sometimes takes as long as the creation process.

Do you ever reach out to touch the color, the flavor, the texture that is so elusive? The misty feeling that is almost form? The wordless thought. The tap, tap, tap on the thin, gossamer veil. I can almost see you...

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