She loves stories and color and textures. She often falls into mountains and vistas and seas – literally falls into them, intuitively sensing with all her physical senses other dimensions of time and space and life.
Beauty stops her in her tracks because she sees the truth there —in natur-al pieces of the world (out the window, down the path, in a rock, in the unguarded facial expression), or in similar encounters in form of art (performance, sculpture, poems, story, in the lines and planes of visual and three dimensional art). She has many encounters to share – but has remained mostly silent for decades.
Lost somewhere in the thickets of errands and tasks and finance, in the serious business of living.
As a young child skipping stones, catching polliwogs, writing poems and stories...and even older, always making one often poorly constructed but highly satisfying thing after another with fabric or decoupage or some such stuff. Her voice often surfaces in fleeting moments when writing.
If you see her
She's probably with your artist, too.