I alternate between thinking of the planet as home - dear and familiar stone hearth and garden - and as a hard land of exile in which we are all sojourners.

Landscape consists in the multiple, overlapping intricacies and forms that exist in a given space at a moment in time.

Then why did you tell me?

It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping God may wake someday and take offense, or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return.

The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.

The creative process obtains in all creative acts. So if I'm painting suddenly I'll see something that I didn't see before.

Divinity is not playful. The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensibl e earnest. By a power that is unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet. There is nothing to be done about it, but ignore it, or see.