Waves of Snowdrifts is about opposites:
Earth is compact and generous in its rich nourishing soil, waiting to breathe through its vegetation with the coming of spring. But now, in late winter, the last vestiges of snowfields are narrowing down to abstract patterns, not unlike frozen ocean waves.
Air is the opposite of earth: transparent and luminous . . . it all but eludes our senses. It is the subtlest condition of life. Weightless, shimmering with lights and associated with the sky, it is ethereal, immaterial, open to flights of fancy and to the freedom of the mind. I am always dazzled by its gentleness and delicacy, like the meadowlark that will soon be arriving to fill the fields with its song.
The painting is this life play, a form of evening meditation of yin and yang. The delicate light gradually fades into the night, but with the promise of another day as the generous earth warms and winter reluctantly gives itself to the fertile life forces of nature.