I sometimes think I am fading away. I feel as if everything that makes me who I am is being overshadowed by the need to create, and as I find ways to express my art there becomes nothing but shadows left inside.

When dew collects on empty branches and reflects the sorrows that have shorn leaf from bud, when the rock is wet with storm-tossed rain and even the moss feels forlorn, in those moments I feel something in side me unfold and my spirit is free, unburdened.

I feel a kinship with the empty places in the world.