This is an attempt at a metaphorical exploration of landscape as form in regards to our psychological and emotional state of being.
This has been a personal exploration of expression without concept. These are images that have come with me through my sensing perceptions of my own personal reality. Out of my own curiosity, I am trying to give form to a collective image of struggle within a hopeful time of rebuilding after times of destruction.
There has been a searching within, to a state of normality made up of hope and the calming nature of the warming essence of what came with knowing.
There is a certain kind of dichotomy placed within me in the setting of future considerations that don't come free of the burdens of fear.
Globally, the constant pressing issue of our climate and the survival of our species is weighing heavy on me also. I wonder if my enjoyment of nature will lose its foreshadowing of loss again.
The tropic landscape has long been synonymous with a concept we call paradise.
I see this both in pragmatic form but also in its abstraction of a state within myself experienced psychologically and metaphysically.
Curious, if I can return to a feeling of what came with my first naivety of the stories I was told about the world. The security of knowing and the hopeful state of certainty was something I valued but through the destruction of many ideas, the idea of certainty makes me feel remarkably lost.
The trickling nuance of grace that has enveloped my existence in disappearance.
The light traversed my adversity with presence, likening the feeling within reach of my soul.
If we can't reach this state or go back to what was, can we live with the remains of destruction in balance with what is still beautiful.
Or will the state of such beauty always remain veiled to the next generation.
I wait.
Wondering if I am just here to watch this beauty unfold or am I here to become it.
As I watch, willingly waiting.
I see that what was a yearning in me towards a constructed paradise only withheld the beauty of acceptance in finding what grew out of the loss.
The old dream, I allowed to burn.
The wishful heart, held delusions of desires I outgrew.