A friend recently reminded me of Nic Askew’s work.
It’s exquisite, I find.
It’s magnetically compelling to see beauty, art, and human depth
applied to the practice of conscious seeing.
What I see in Askew’s work melts protective layers in me,
transporting me to much more raw heart
— within me and what I see in the world.
Enjoy this poem on dreams.
tree of dreams.
All but one stood shaking its
branches for dreams
Dreams that had been whispered
to them by the voices of
Dreams that would fade
But one sat quietly, waiting
for a dream to recognise his soul.
And to consume him with no doubt.