In my hand a stone evokes physical beauty- in dreams a magic presence. First borne of the sea— unstable, like fire flowing. Stones are alive, they radiate outward from dark primal centers invisible to the eye.
Inhabiting the forest, hills and streams, mosses grow upon them. Large rocks by the seaside gather as community harboring seeds, sea pods, and small creatures in thier crevices and hollows. Adorned in reds and striated ochre, stones lie at the bottom of streams as pure beauty, smooth and slippery, embedding in the sand like jewels.
Animals and plants impress themselves on the surface of a stone, imprinting thier shadow,in form, in time: a symbiotic unity. The stone is cool, hard, enduring earth, like bone and shell moving to a slower rhythm. A stone is hot and molten, stones have current, an ebb and flow, — stones are quietly dreaming.
The arts are the food of the gods.