Where The Feathers Speak (Twilight At The Canyons Edge)
Oil on Canvas
38 x 32
Available
$15,000.00 USD
Where The Feathers Speak (Twilight At the Canyons Edge).
"High on the stone cliffs of the world, where winds remember the names of the old ones, he sits...bare skin kissed by twilight's last light, the warmth of the earth rising through his bones.
He wears nothing but silence, a strip of leather around his waist, and a great bonnet of endurance and spiritual transformation...each feather earned, each one a whisper from his long, winding path of life.
The red quills hold the memory of thunder, that bleed with sacrifice, heartache and hope that only the mountains know.
Around him, no drum, no fire, no brother, no blade...only the hawk’s shadow and the endless breath of the canyon.
He has left his tribe, left the bracelets, the bells, the bronze, left the burden of name and face to climb into the sky’s thoughts.
He listens now, not with ears, but with the space behind his ribs...a place made ready through hunger, prayer, and stillness.
And there, in the hush between his heartbeats, comes his ancestors, made of cloud and mist, speaking in dreams older than language.
Where The Feathers Speak (Twilight At the Canyons Edge).
"High on the stone cliffs of the world, where winds remember the names of the old ones, he sits...bare skin kissed by twilight's last light, the warmth of the earth rising through his bones.
He wears nothing but silence, a strip of leather around his waist, and a great bonnet of endurance and spiritual transformation...each feather earned, each one a whisper from his long, winding path of life.
The red quills hold the memory of thunder, that bleed with sacrifice, heartache and hope that only the mountains know.
Around him, no drum, no fire, no brother, no blade...only the hawk’s shadow and the endless breath of the canyon.
He has left his tribe, left the bracelets, the bells, the bronze, left the burden of name and face to climb into the sky’s thoughts.
He listens now, not with ears, but with the space behind his ribs...a place made ready through hunger, prayer, and stillness.
And there, in the hush between his heartbeats, comes his ancestors, made of cloud and mist, speaking in dreams older than language.
They do not tell him what he must do.
They show him who he has always been."
For inquiries for this painting and signed prints, please go to www.gilesfineart.com or send me a direct message.
#nativeamerican, #chief, #shaman, #spirit, #spiritualawakening, #vision, #visionquest, #ancestors, #twilight, #clouds, #sunset, #canyon, #feather, #western, #southwest, #desert, #oilpainting, #painting