Sunday morning abstract: on the beach.

Sunday morning abstract: a memory dwelt upon evolves with the dweller, it is not fixed. This is the way of things we keep close.

Sunday morning abstract: blue fades.

Sunday morning abstract: the work isn’t always easy and nor should it be. The question is really or should really be about why the work is.

Sunday morning abstract: the light overtakes in waves. It is alright, let it pass, consume, and carry.

Sunday morning abstract: a red swath of light comes through, is it passion or a warning, or is it both?

Sunday morning abstract: a hint of blood in the emulsion.

Sunday morning abstract: there is nothing here.

Sunday morning abstract

Sunday morning abstract: ghosts dance in the emulsion.

Sunday morning abstract: a strange figure gestures from the only feature in the blue universe in which you now reside.

Sunday morning abstract: lines intersect, a face like a mask grotesque.

Sunday morning abstract: we are torn asunder. Torn from ourselves and torn from each other.

Sunday morning abstract: neglect and fade.

Sunday morning abstract: blue things.

Sunday morning abstract: we label our world by routine and reflex while we should strive to make the act conscious and considered.

Sunday morning abstract: there are always other perspectives to consider.

Sunday morning abstract

You’ve got to be fast to catch this man, even when he’s standing still. I almost caught the creative powerhouse that is Friendly Rich but, alas, it was the end of the roll for me.

Sunday morning abstract: back to blue