148 the rice diet renewal
Through it all, I kept thinking, I ’ m not supposed to be this
sick. On the other hand, on awakening in the ICU due to
respiratory failure, I ’ d wonder, God, why am I still here?
And I have to tell you — dying is not so bad. In the blink of
an eye, I went from exquisite pain to exquisite freedom. The
moments before, I was working hard to breathe, hanging on
to life. The will to survive is strong. But the instant I let go or
was forced to let go, an amazing thing happened. I was com-
pletely immersed in the most beautiful feeling I have ever
felt. Love! Times one million! It was everywhere — and pulling
me toward more love. I absolutely wanted to keep going.
This is what I experienced every single time I had respi-
ratory failure. Then I would wake up, always tethered to a
gurney in the ICU, breathing apparatus in place.
More years went by, things changed. Namely, I remarried
and moved to Asheville, North Carolina. Several years ago,
I decided to try my hand at painting again, after a twenty - year
hiatus. The urge to try was overpowering compared to the
fear of not trying. I had to know. A friend told me about an
available space. As I drove up to Warehouse Studios, d é j à vu
hit me hard. Could this be the very same building I ’ d strolled
through so many years ago? Yes — it was!
I stepped into my future work space and felt like I ’ d come
home. I decided to rent the studio for one year and see if
I could “ get it back. ” For the entire year, I showed up every
day and worked, not liking anything I painted. For the whole
year I kept at it, and toward the end of my deadline, I truly
loved a painting. One. But that ’ s all it took!
I am now a full - time landscape painter. Living in the Blue
Ridge Mountains is certainly very inspiring. But so is living.
Every day is a gift. My paintings contain a certain amount of
structure, which I like to think of as God ’ s Master Plan. An
underlying random grid that represents the organization we
fi nd in nature and manifests itself as trees in the forest, stems
of fl owers, refl ections, or, sometimes, as itself. My work var-
ies from impressionistic to abstract and, though described as