Pamela Callahan

The hills in southwest Wisconsin have imprinted their curves, shadows and shapes upon me. I recognize their vigor and converse with them continuously—a vital exchange that is ultimately released into paintings.

Creatures, structures, destruction, elemental bodies (scintilla to sky), the mud of thaw, electric love light—all get shoved into the fun house, a trailer at the edge of the carnival, and through that maze of heart and brain.

What comes out the other end (the exit is an arm, a hand, a brush) is some somatic transference of world to paint.

That bodily act, the stain it leaves.

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© Pamela Callahan