Dark Birch, Mixed Media, Acrylic with bark

Alone in the evenings with quiet muse, reflection, possessed by the spirit of the past, going in, preparing for solitude and renewal. I've been feeling moved to paint more lately, trying new techniques, letting the thickness flow even thicker with globs of texture and contrast. Feelings of acorns hiding deeply in chest, waiting, tannic rich with potential, to be reborn. Umbilical cord to the mother. It always comes back to the mother. And then we rest, it is all okay, we all journey back to the same thing. We already are the same thing. A journey, a reflection, of the split and renewal, the journey back, but the realization that we're already there. A journey is not needed.  This cycle will never end. I like the days getting shorter, I like my time in the dark alone. Quiet, thinking.

The photos are not the quality I would prefer to show what I really love about this painting. Thick black, and thick red. I have a mix of quality and not so quality paints I have acquired over the years. I can really tell now when painting, a difference in the thickness and texture that comes out of these different paints. But, my attitude is just: go with it. I often paint without 'direction' with an aim to use all of the paint I've poured. Conservation is what really directs my painting, not a preconceived idea per se. Although, it is always a reflection of my subconscious.

The birch tree is something I miss, a reflection of light in ancient dark forests of fern and hemlock. Majestic, floating in 4 ft thick snow banks, white against the white and black of dark winters. White against the green and brown of rich summers. I just love and miss this tree as a symbol of something bigger I miss that my toes creep tendrils down to, my locks creep tendrils out to, my fingers creep tendrils through brushes, string, fabric, twigs, bark, connecting..silence..reconnecting..strengthening the marriage to the mother. The birch is a reflection of my longing, my anticipation and excitement towards the coming darkness of winter in the woods, a time alone I have not had in a long time, without a partner, without need to give and pour, but yet connected to all, preparing to pour out all completely. Fall is always a little bit poetic for me.