I do not paint. I listen. Every time I sit down, an invisible guest arrives who wants to experience itself on canvas — a color, a form, a connection that has been waiting. I do not choose it, I make it visible. The painting knows what it wants to be. My only practice is to stay present enough to let it. Sometimes Persian words find their way all the way from ancient times to present. I welcome them in.

I Remember

I remember being an eagle flying over a meadow.

I remember being a man watching the eagle flying over a meadow.

I remember being a home housing the man who was watching the eagle flying over the meadow.

I remember being the window that allowed the light in.

I remember being the wind hugging the home housing the man who was watching the eagle flying over the meadow.

I remember being a river kissing the wind hugging the home housing the man who was watching the eagle flying over the meadow.

I remember being a rock resting in the river kissing the wind hugging the home housing the man who was watching the eagle flying over the meadow.

I remember being a girl lying on the rock resting in the river kissing the wind hugging the home housing the man who was watching the eagle flying over the meadow.

I remember being a bug singing in the hair of the girl lying on the rock resting in the river kissing the wind hugging the home housing the man who was watching the eagle flying over the meadow.

I remember being …everything.