As deep as a soul could go, India called. The low moan of a sadhu in chant, the lyric of sitar with its music, spirit lights that are carried like drifting incense. A stirring of another life, a time when reverence for the devine permeated existence. The quiet gait of women carrying baskets, the simple tasks of preparing dinner or devotional bathing in the Ganges. For six weeks I surrendered to this India. My paintings each a gift of grace. 

Community is fundamental for our survival. While travelling throughout northern India I witness caring and sharing of labour. Women working the fields, getting water or labouring on roads. Self reliance takes on a meaning that self is included in community. Mirroring each other, awareness of other as self is a foundational survival mechanism that is part of their culture, it embraces the whole. "Taking Turns At The Well" This charming scene of women waiting to fill their water urns in turn I witness in remote villages through out Rajasthan. 

In the centre of our being I believe we yearn for deep contentment, a balance of love with service, gratitude with surrender. A knowing that all is well. Perhaps there is a simple path to this place.