Breathing space

The mountain has been concealed by mist for the entire day. Thick and white. Hiding maybe the other white of snow. The white spaces move like breath. They exhale, inhale, exhale. A rhythm of making and viewing. As I paint I notice my breath as I work closely to the surface, I imagine it misting the paper pale grey on the exhale, the blank paper an inhale, taking the image away from the paper and bringing it inside.

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