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| In a western marsh, yellow-headed blackbirds flit among the grasses like tiny marionettes, whirling and whooping and making periodic stops. Their fragments of color swim over the surface of the grasses that ripple in the breeze. I like finding old familiar colors in unexpected places, intertwining with light and shadow and texture. The movement creates new forms that press against my eyes, reminding me that everything is moving however small or large a movement it is. | ||||