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Doorway
to Altar. Acrylic.
1991. 16x20.
Doors do open and there is pain
at the threshold
But every entrance is worth the wait to sow seeds
and watch the roots grow into a foundation.
Fields
of Flowers.
Acrylic. 1993.
18x24.
Serenade of
Peacocks. Acrylic.
1991. 16x20
Indian
Summer. Acrylic.
1992. 24x24.
...fullness of heat,
of dust, of fruit--large luscious warm and wet promising both life
and death all at once...moon heavy destiny awaits the flow of blood
from one threshold to another, making room for laughter and tears,
marking changes...in the soil...
The Vortex.
Acrylic. 1992.
24x30
...we fluid with passion fall
and rise with the tides...
Vac. Acrylic.
1992. 20x24
She is speech and she is speechlessness.
The Flight
of Birds. Acrylic.
1998. 20x30
design of life--boxed within...boxed
without
dance of life...dance of dying
awakening to freedom
union of the elements
Mantra Shakti.
Acrylic. 1997.
16x20
Om Namah Shivaya
Om Ayim Srim Hrim Saraswati Devyayi Namaha
Seed syllables
connect source with root
transport us and ground us
so we can spring up with flowers
From Desert
to Moon. Acrylic.
1993. 20x24
She is cautioned to not look
back as she is led forward, away from the disasters of a life
lived and lost...in the desert is one plant...the sky is fertile
and the flower, a bright paintbrush... the serpent round the walking
stick
a promise, a renewal
The
Gaze. Acrylic. 20x24.
1993
She smiles silence; her eyes,
perhaps, say--
I am enough
Contemplation.
Acrylic. 20x30.
1994
Conversations.
Acrylic. 24x24.
1993
Quiet evenings. No dialogue.
Only shadows.
The music floats in the balmy summer night--
soft satin-silk notes
Blessing 1
& 2. Acrylic.
1997. 20x30.
The
Living Banyan Tree.
Acrylic. 2000.
24x36
When passion and substance meet,
a tree takes root.
Transformations.
Acrylic. 1992.
24x30.
Transformations
2. Acrylic. 1998.
20x24
Flower
of the Cosmos. Acrylic.
1997. 16x20.
The Mother in her maieutic process
breathes
the universe in her repose
Where the
Mind is Without Fear...
1998. 18x24.
Where the mind is without fear
And the head is
held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow
domestic walls
Where words cry out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason
has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought
and action
Into that heaven of freedom, My Father,
Let my country awake!
--Rabindranath Tagore
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