A shimmering horse stomps these grounds. It shakes its magnificent head and rears under a gray moon. The calling to the wilderness rakes at the spine. Sends blood racing. And the striking horse bolts into the dark brush.

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The journey began at the confluence of rivers. People have long farmed, hunted and fished here amid the San Juan hills and mountains. Made love here. And died here.

The artist inside me must have been born in that never ending sky. I landed in Northern New Mexico to write for a living. A hard bark editor gave me assignments that took me to gloomy, dark canyons, to rivers and shimmering lakes under serrated mountains. This glimpse of heaven would fade.

My paintings follow a wandering path through this breathtaking place.

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