It Begins With a Puddle

Not too much to see. Unless you think potentiality.



Blue. Cobalt blue. Some water. A sable brush. And me.



Do you see a sky? or a river bed? Or something not yet formed? Look at the edges so freshly wet. And traces of potent blue. I see the beginnings of all things, of tidepools, constellations, even a heartbeat.



Here's some line. A little ink. A bit of pencil. Two more essentials. Every puddle I have waded, every river, ocean or stream that flows through my fingers, every raindrop on my face...can be touched again. Brought to life with resonance.



No, doesn't look like much. A few simple tools.



And then add me.

This is for Michael Martine.