|“ All is well I am safe in my mother’s amniotic sac, tucked comfortably under her heart. .. take me back. In a fetal position, a cocoon of amniotic light enveloped me.
The ways in which the cycles, rotations and movements of the planets and stars in the galaxy, the waxing and waning of the moon squeeze each of us is yet another womb experience. . . “
"Dragonflies do frequently appear in my work. They predate dinosaurs, having lived on our planet for 325 million years. While their iridescence is stunning, they are my metaphor for the very old, reptilian, primitive portions of our brains, whose rigidity and compulsiveness have often led to our demise.
Although, the Dalai Lama and Neuroscientists have concluded that our brains, which appear in my paintings, have neuroplasticity in response to meditation and experiences, our prior, epigenetic and a priori innate “programing” often override our conscious wishes. We can evolve an upgrade."
"I want to observe and stay open to Neuroplasticity and it’s potentials, through self examination and meditation. We are like stacking dolls and tree rings, with the ever present dragonfly, a reminder of the ancient, the oldest more primitive brain in our core. The primitive is still alive in us during the Aquarian Age as endless human patterns unfold through us, grab hold of us and move us. "
JARDIN a Grand-Père Amédeé / Once Upon a Time:
The drive up to Escanaba, Michigan from Milwaukee, Wisconsin seemed endless when we were children.
The excitement upon our arrival was wondrous. Grandma Marie and Grandpa Amédeé greeted us with open arms as we ran up the porch steps. We scampered across the creaky linoleum tiled floors into the kitchen. Conversations between our elders were interspersed with French Canadian, many hand gestures, kissing and hugging. The house recalled a certain 40’s era with it’s deep forest green and cream speckled linoleum floor tiles, ornate wooden inlaid bureaus and dressing tables, floral print wallpaper and curtains in the upstairs bedrooms. The basement smelled musty and was full of treasures.
The crowning glory of our trip was to stroll through Grandpa Med’s backyard garden. The garden was the Beaudoin’s entire backyard, with the exception of a paved path down the center. Grandpa took so much pride in describing every flower and their care. My favorites were always those small, deep-dark-purple pansies that grew closest to the edges because of their low height. They were backed by zinnias, sweet alyssum, and daisies. These were flanked from behind, near the encompassing side fences by tall glads, iris, hollyhocks and snowball bushes- perhaps hydrangeas.
Being only five or six years old, I felt that I was in a huge and magnificent wonderland. All was joy and joyful in Grandpa’s garden. I walked down the center path with, and was in awe of, my Grandpa. When we reached the end of the path, the very best part was waiting; Grandpa Med’s raspberry bushes, growing wildly against the end walls. This glorious garden had been embedded in my mind’s eye for years. My mother’s 80th birthday seemed that moment in my time as an artist, to create an image of Amédeé’s Garden for her.