Winter Spring

This piece is a testament to all things that one thinks have vanished, have turned to dust, have long since been dealt with and buried, but have really just been there all along, growing quietly in the dark like a 17 year cicada.

I was 36, maybe 37 when I pulled this piece out of more than two decades of dormancy. I had not ground an ink stick since I was 13.  And I felt a need to do so once again.

Although the Chinese dragon is traditionally a male character, this one is very much a self portrait.