|The Great Bear|
In a writing class right now and thought I’d share a ‘long sentence’ I wrote about the eruption of Mt. St. Helens – along with some in process work of a large, 5’x5′ piece on this subject.
The soil on her great shoulders, squirming with roots and worms and fat, playful marmot, is momentarily quiet in the frosted morning, broken suddenly by her silent exhale, tensing, then a vicious shiver, quaking pines and vibrant Indian Paintbrush loose from its cool, brown grasp which limps as forest and meadow pitch and give in to the new pull of gravity, resounding, reverberating, bellowing from its earthen depths that soil lurches, casting lodgepole and aromatic cedar from it like a barber snapping hair from a smock, while the great, hot depth snorts and blows through the now tumbling dirt and rock, gaining both speed and mass as it ruptures along Sister Helen’s spine, a tsunami of chunder, of log and snow and fire, mass and matter now quickly deteriorating as it runs, demon cloud behind, shockwave leading, into old Spirit Lake, whose murky blue depths prepare for the impact, prepare to be lifted from their foundations, Rainbows and dragonfly larvae hung in the dense, tumultuous air, by simply leaning, simply rippling Northward and away from the trauma and exile of that cloud of soil, now relieved of neatly stratified history, now a wash of rock and bone and ash, dusting eerily over the West.
|Birth of Saul (in process) ; 5’x5′; Sumi Ink, Charcoal, Whiskey, Watercolor, Graphite on Paper|