The history of walking is an unwritten voyage whose fragments can be found in songs, stories, conversations, poems, books, and in almost everyone’s adventures. One’s imagination has shaped and been shaped by spaces it passes through on two feet. Most of the time walking is merely practical, to make walking into an exploration, a ritual, a meditation, is to infuse the subject of walking, in some sense, with how we invest universal acts with particular meanings, from the spiritual to the sensual, from the revolutionary to the artistic.
I am a meditative walker, and I am writing about walking because that is what first brought me to collecting, and subsequently drawing from the natural world. Picking up rocks, shredded corals, an open eye of a Halibut. Looking into the veins of leaves, bleached from summer gold to ashen grey by dust and pollution (seems like the palette of every season in urban life). The glistening reds of an oleander tree, like darkened vertebrae of springy bones. A nursery of dark firs gathered quiet by a cliff’s white elbow, the horizon glistening with colour. It is an experience of raising one's awareness as it is of imaginative enlargement.