Any quiet moment in nature that draws me to the Creator. The amazing order of design in seed pods and leaves, of child's delight in such discoveries.
The lovely symbiosis of quaking aspens and pines, of golden poppies and blue lupines. The very song of the earth.
The constancy of surf and sand and the ever-changing patterns they conspire to create, combing a stretch of beach in search of shells or driftwood and finding renewal. The cathedral-like tranquility of redwood groves.
The serendipity of designs by sea snails and bark beetles.
Artwork by my students and my children that still move me to tears.
Ink sketches by Rembrandt.
A three-foot wooden chain carved by my great grandfather, the child-like art of Paul Klee and Larry Hodgkinson and my grandchildren.
The carved hiking sticks of my dad and my brother.
The painterly art of Richard Schmid, the photography of Ansel Adams, Eliot Porter and Robert Taylor.
Chaotic patterns of eroded sandstone and charred driftwood logs, majestic mountains, waterfalls and streams, large or small.
Chinese calligraphy.
The Mayan clay funerary figurines from the island of Jaina, whistling pots from Pre-Columbian potters.
Pottery that invites me to touch and hold it, to eat or drink from it.
Color, line, and texture everywhere I look.
