It was a photo that caught my eye in a magazine, and I wanted nothing more than to paint it. so i did.
it reminded me of an evening when I was in the equatorial jungle of Cameroon.
Saturday, March 6th, 2004
I was out in the forest again, where the air is thick and heavy in your lungs and everything drips with moisture when it isnít a flat out torrential downpour. It is a hot, fetid swamp, where parasitic vines grapple with monstrous trees creating a thick canopy that chokes out the sun. Roots hang down from that canopy like sloths, sucking nourishment from the air itself. It gives one the impression that one is seeing this forest from the underside, walking beneath the soil where the worms and the creeping things do. But sitting in the green hued semi-darkness, on a sandbar in a half dried up river bed as the day light fades, surrounded by dense tropical vegetation while the insects swarm and the cicadas and crickets create their deafening roar is one of the most amazing experiences I may ever have the good fortune of living through. Cicadas and crickets all but drown out the gurgling sound of the ruminants of a once swift flowing stream. Occasionally a hornbill flies overhead the sound of itís wings like a steam train puffing in the distance. I sat and watched the little fish, no bigger than the flies I was trying to avoid, carried out there little lives in an ever shrinking watery world. At least I watched until it was too dark to see. At which point I undressed, my body glowing white in the darkness, I waded into the pool and bathed to the deafening roar of the insects. All tension and troubles rinsed away as long with the dayís sweat and grime.