I am a resting boat. I stay in one place as the world swirls around, full of chaos, anger, and hate. Sometimes it’s a ripple across the surface, more often a fierce wind. Warmer winters and hotter summers, the water levels keep rising. I try to keep up, but the surfaces of light and sound are membranes, only allowing me to see the obvious.

​

Someday I won’t make art. I am getting older, so many things pulling at my attention, and my country is no longer recognizable. It hurts to question if my whispers matter anymore?

 

I watch a child dancing. Two children tossing a ball. A baby in the air. A play of light and shadow where flickers of small gestures grow into a life, like woven threads of an expansive tapestry. If only we could see everything at once like birds in flight. Not one but hundreds together. And a good rain is made up of many drops. Voices are stronger together. I know I never accomplish anything alone. It’s good for this empty boat to remember where strength comes from. Mountains made of atoms.