Sometimes I wonder where the paintings come from. I stand in front of the easel and start and , hours later, I have a scene in front of me that I totally connect with: I know this place, I know this view, I remember how I felt when I was here, it is as familiar as my own visage in a mirror....and yet, it's all in my head. This place has no tenure in geographical co-irdinates.
I don't have the words to explain it ,but I exist in these images. Maybe this is me as a landscape.