Mark Zimmerman  

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One Autumn Storm

acrylic on canvas
40" x 30"


For me, nothing is more thrilling, more highly charged, than the vast spaces of the high plains animated by the powers of a thunderstorm.  Wakinyan Tanka – in Lakota, each spring thunderbeings fly east from nests of dry bones in great trees at the earth’s edge where the sun goes down.  The rolling thunder is the beating of their wings, their voice the thunderclap, and their glance is lightening.  Swirling in chaos, spinning in opposition to universal order, the great powers of the west bring destruction and creative energies.  As a Lakota holy-man once said to me, “It’s true – if you believe in that sort of thing.”  Exactly.  By autumn the ferocity of storms dissipate, contrasts of light and shadow soften, red of Little Bluestem and golds of other grasses blend through grays and into the bruised colors of sky.  This ode to such an evening could be anywhere and everyplace on the high plains in autumn.

private collection