OUR FEET TREAD SLEEPLESS MEADOWS

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"our feet tread sleepless meadows sweet with fear."

While wandering through Berkeley, I purchased a book of E. E. Cummings poetry in a second-hand bookstore. Inspired by this line on the first page, I came home and painted this soft-spoken car crash picnic—an exploration of voyeurism, tragedy, and willful helplessness.

Oil on canvas, 28 x 36 in.