The Memory Of Cumshewa Is Of A

Real Art Is Religion, A Search For The Beauty Of God Deep In All Things.

Sometimes I Could Quit Paint And Take To Charring. It Must Be Fine To Clean Perfectly, To Shine And Polish And Know That It Could Not Be Done Better. In Painting That Never Occurs.

As The Woods Are The Same, The Trees Standing In Their Places, The Rocks And The Earth... They Are Always Different Too, As Lights And Shadows And Seasons And Moods Pass Through Them.

My Mountain Is Dead. As Soon As She Has Dried, I'll Bury Her Under A Decent Layer Of White Paint. But I Haven't Done With The Old Lady; Far From It!

It Is Wonderful To Feel The Grandness Of Canada In The Raw, Not Because She Is Canada But Because She's Something Sublime That You Were Born Into, Some Great Rugged Power That You Are A Part Of.