Because of the natural temperament of linen, subtle creases may remain visible even after the canvas has been stretched. If one is open to overlooking this small imperfection, the story of these paintings begins to reveal itself—like scrolls of stories once rolled up, now stretched and released at their appointed time. We all come with imperfections, and those very marks, those honest strokes, are often what tell our story most beautifully, I find.
This canvas is sold unframed, as shown in the picture measures 42" x 27"
I will not let go until you bless me.
How is it that this feels so familiar, something you say to the one you know so deeply, the one you can wrestle with, cry out to, push against, and still be held by? The struggle itself is sacred, the tension and release, the exhaustion and rest. He stands in this place with me, unshaken, present, drawing out the transformation that is already taking shape.
Ribbons of color move across the canvas, strong and free, pulling against one another yet finding harmony. Oil pastels raw and unfiltered, like the press of hands against earth, like the weight of a night spent wrestling by the river. The terrain shifts, wild and unyielding, yet soft where dawn begins to break. It is the moment before the blessing, the name not yet spoken but already known.
And in the most beautiful shape, you shall take.
Because of the natural temperament of linen, subtle creases may remain visible even after the canvas has been stretched. If one is open to overlooking this small imperfection, the story of these paintings begins to reveal itself—like scrolls of stories once rolled up, now stretched and released at their appointed time. We all come with imperfections, and those very marks, those honest strokes, are often what tell our story most beautifully, I find.
This canvas is sold unframed, as shown in the picture measures 42" x 27"
I will not let go until you bless me.
How is it that this feels so familiar, something you say to the one you know so deeply, the one you can wrestle with, cry out to, push against, and still be held by? The struggle itself is sacred, the tension and release, the exhaustion and rest. He stands in this place with me, unshaken, present, drawing out the transformation that is already taking shape.
Ribbons of color move across the canvas, strong and free, pulling against one another yet finding harmony. Oil pastels raw and unfiltered, like the press of hands against earth, like the weight of a night spent wrestling by the river. The terrain shifts, wild and unyielding, yet soft where dawn begins to break. It is the moment before the blessing, the name not yet spoken but already known.
And in the most beautiful shape, you shall take.
