Years ago in Wisconsin, my sister whispered to me that there was something I had to see. She guided me down a secret hidden pathway, across a bridge through the woods. When we arrived, I found the Recording Angel. She comes begging a question, “is your name written in her ancient book to enter another realm?” It has become a favorite place in my travels, a stop in, a persistent reminder. In aged stately copper patina she sits ever strong, worn but unbending, beautifully buttressed and unyielding in her beliefs. Every time I make my way to visit her on the rolling cut-in hillside, through the trees, she still whispers, still asking her question of me.
12” wide x 18” high x 1.5” deep
cradled birch panel
original photography
encaustic medium
mixed media, oils and pigments
Years ago in Wisconsin, my sister whispered to me that there was something I had to see. She guided me down a secret hidden pathway, across a bridge through the woods. When we arrived, I found the Recording Angel. She comes begging a question, “is your name written in her ancient book to enter another realm?” It has become a favorite place in my travels, a stop in, a persistent reminder. In aged stately copper patina she sits ever strong, worn but unbending, beautifully buttressed and unyielding in her beliefs. Every time I make my way to visit her on the rolling cut-in hillside, through the trees, she still whispers, still asking her question of me.
12” wide x 18” high x 1.5” deep
cradled birch panel
original photography
encaustic medium
mixed media, oils and pigments
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