We came back down to the coast. The cool, constant north wind brought blue sky.

Scanning my photographs I see most of them are views west, over the road we have traveled.

I question my art and my craft. On the landscape there reside the constructions of the earth artists. I am in a state of confusion. Nightmares of abandonment and excommunication awaken me to the gray drizzle mornings.

On the intense beauty of the highway my retrospective view of the the road bugs me.

Have I done the right thing? Did I, so many years ago; in choosing the traditional path, make the correct selections of mediums and subjects?

Driving the rig my mind is almost constantly upon an immediate future and the undulating horizon of lane pavement before me. Cars and trucks streak by at 200 kilometers an hour, each one a potential hazard, Each safe passing is the culmination of an act of faith and a confirmation of the painted lines, rules of the road, and of humanity.

Occasionally from a prominence I see a vista.

The beauty is beyond my imagination and the ruminations from my tiny point of view. It's not about me. I am the vehicle.

I am upon the right pathway? Looking outward, forward or backward, is the vision of an artist in action. This artist and my personally interpreted artistic inheritance. This vision is not about me. It's true even on this gray, cool, wet morning 150 kilometers from Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.

 

 

 

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