Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us, / even in the leafless winter, / even in the ashy city. / I am thinking now / of grief, and of getting past it.
— Mary Oliver
These paintings* are born of strong angles reminiscent of branches crossing the sky on a cloudy day, a pillow of snow under a street lamp or the deepest shadows of winter bruising the landscape. The pale pinks are frosted noses and cheeks, the deep lines like veins of marble or the veins of my tender skin.