Touch Me


Standing there I watched her, beautiful and graceful, long-limbed with a finely chiselled face. Pulling at the skirt she was trying on she made a face at herself in the mirror, “No, I don’t think this is me … I am too fat, too old… No. I think I should just choose that loose long black one. And the flat shoes.”

How did we get to this place where we are reduced to seeing ourselves in terms of defective pieces of carbon, falling short of an impossible idea of perfection propagated by the surreal world of popular culture? At what point will we wake up and realize the truth, inhabit the bodies we own, make the space we occupy one of joyous celebration rather than bitter regret?

I painted this in answer to that experience. An observation. Beautiful women. Occupying spaces. Intertwined. Interconnected.

“It was just hard.  Everything was cold and hard.” Imagine my joy to be able to give this to a Canadian Veteran who has given so much for our Country: has been injured (IED when on patrol) and lives with the horror of his recon missions.  His strength inspires me, humbles me and teaches me of the pure unconquerable power and beauty of the human spirit.


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