The sea is dark and opaque, but we must navigate through the sea. We are in the darkness on the way of perfection – I think God is happy when our will is to be in the way of light. Perfection is not something we can grasp or grab, but our life is being on that light-filled path.


In the summer of 2014, I met a French woman named Veronique who spoke these words softly in her white-tiled kitchen. With tiredness from our long quiche dinner and a sense of profundity from thinking about our existence, we stood in silence together for a few moments.


What does the sea tell of light and life and being? What does rocky, mountainous land tell of darkness and obscurity?


For Catholic and Eastern Orthodox practitioners, the Liturgy of the Hours makes a path to the light and life of which Veronique spoke. It is in ordering and marking out days, months, and years in their proper seasons that the question of existence can be properly felt. It is a haptic knowledge – to feel, to touch, to experience the physicality of things. It is the way our bodies sit before the sea and the mountains that tells us how we ought to be postured towards God.


My series of woodcuts – Morning, Midday, and Evening (borrowed from the distinctions made in the Liturgy of the Hours) reflects both the meditative and kinetic rhythms of the day and how these patterns make sense in relation to land, sea, and space.

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