Today we cull from the series, Rain Paintings, with only a dash of ranting. We've always been drawn in to the squashed remains of street life after a storm, which has further swollen, scrambled, eroded and abstracted the materials:
|Banana holds her line|
|Squashed abandoned sock, sturdy cousin of Squashed Abandoned Glove|
Such a sense of direction, anyhow ....
|Dawn til Dusk|
|Truly is a pot of Liquid Gold|
From the unincorporated Area
Until we meet again.