OUR FEET TREAD SLEEPLESS MEADOWS

"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.