A couple of days ago, while in the countryside in southern France, I happened upon a ground nest of several 1.5" long eggs. I was weeding a cultivated patch of garden around an Italian Cypress tree on a friend's land. I pulled away some tall dry grasses and found a cavity in the ground lined with grasses and pine needles. The eggs lay upon one another as though someone had placed them in Nature's basket. The tops of the eggs came to a slight point. I looked around for the mother. There were no birds within the tree that I could hear or see. I looked around the ground for movement thinking they might be snake eggs. All was still. I photographed the eggs and speculated.
Last night I had two dreams in which a snake appeared, twice. I looked up the meaning of serpent mythology and found three pages of references to various cultures and religions. What struck me most, as relevant, was that the snake is the god of the rivers. For the first time in my life, I live near a river and a canal and am fascinated by their winding and meandering complexion. I've always loved the ocean. The river has an entirely different essence. It holds a new kind of mystery, one that keeps me photographing it. Just yesterday after much deliberation and four sketches I added a river behind the Dama de Elche painting I'm currently working on. The river has transformed the painting from a declaration to a narrative. It is tantalizing to consider my preoccupation with the slithering waters of the unconscious and how quick it is to corroborate my life.