As a boy I collected stones, not in a scientific way finding rare stones or rocks of any value. Instead I looked for stones that were beautiful to me in some way. At some point, I was convinced by a well meaning adult that these were worthless and I was foolish to collect something so ordinary. It wasn’t until I had children that I began to relook at stones again. All of my children teethed on the stones in our front garden. Then when my oldest Mary was 2, I took her down to a local creek to throw stones in the water (another fond boyhood memory). As she got older, she became more interested in collecting pretty rocks and shells she found. I began to join her. I had brought my camera to photograph her at the waters edge, but began to use it instead to take photos of the rocks at this special place. Three of the photographs from that day have become paintings. I saw in them beautiful color relationships, amazing juxtaposition of shapes and textures, and most importantly a deep spiritual connection with something in all of us that is very primitive and old. (In fact your average garden stone is somewhere between 8billion and 13 million years old…older than all mankind.) Some of the first structures humans made were stacked stones to mark sacred spaces.
I have always seen painting as a form of meditation and of understanding the world around me, thus understanding myself better. Through now thousands of hours starring at stones, I relate to their scars and “imperfections.” Each rock has their personal story that is much older than my own that fascinates me. I believe it is a story worth being heard so I spend the time to listen and tell it. I take them out of their environment where they remain hidden in the everyday and place them on the wall. I believe that most people are drawn to the paintings immediately by the technique and exhaustive labor that has gone into illustrating them. My hope is that they stay to see what would ordinarily be overlooked.