Page 70 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. V #7

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“When I paint a shoulder waiting for an arm to move, or a hat
sitting on a head, or the way
a cloud rests on a stroke or a pool of paint, or a tree cracks within the limits of the picture plane, I’m also showing my hands and my hips and my shoulders clothed with the limits of my years, and my care or the loneliness I feel, as I push myself into the world and move against and into the shape and shift of things. I look for myself everywhere as if life was a mirror, and I am a dark jar lled with all of it.”
douglas Max utter