With my black ink paintings, I love what the Chinese call “flying white” – the white of the canvas showing through the black. Now I can see the intimate marriage of black and white. Not black
How can a mother really love as a mother if she doesn't believe that her mother loves her?
Wakened by thunder – and I'm singing “Blue Skies.”
Very many of my paintings contain a dot. Some more than one, but usually just the one – the One. The dot always comes first, placing itself seemingly as it desires. (Sometimes that's all I do.
It seems I'm becoming like a preacher: Find God's love, and gratefully reciprocate to God and to all. But I differ, being psychologically-trained, in that I regard the way to God as being through our mothers.
When I was five, I was hospitalized with an illness from which it was thought I would die. (Thankfully, I was only told this many years later!) Every day as my mother turned to leave me
Shin Buddhists invoke Amida Buddha to be transported to The Free Land, to Heaven on earth. We come to Heaven through Amida, the Goddess of Light and Compassion, the Mother of Love. Through seeing, Knowing, our
I never know what I will paint: not a scene, an apple, a circle. Just what is There – and unknown until it emerges.
My painting is nembutsu, an invocation, a prayer, to Amida Buddha. But as Shinran taught, it is not we who pray but Amida who prays through us. So my painting is Amida painting to Herself.
Film cameras, being natural, are strong, robust. But digitals, unnatural, are fragile, vulnerable. And so sensitive to our feelings. Like all things on earth, both are imbued with spirit. It is obvious with my old Nikons,
