Recent Judith Trepp: The Inner Cosmos

We all know that "outer space" is infinite. It keeps going and going and there's no wall to hit or edge to go over. But if we go "in" the same thing is true. You can keep going smaller and smaller in terms of particles, but inside of each, and at every descending level, there is infinite space, otherwise known as the vacuum or field which makes the presence of the stuff of life possible but which is nonquantifiable. So, direction is an misunderstanding, as is solidity. We are suspended in the void, physical but without substance. It's not that our existence is an illusion. It's realer than real. What's an illusion is our erroneous perception of our situation.

For many years, in the middle of the night, I would find myself gripped with a tingling sensation and sense myself traveling through an expanse of stars. I'm not sure if it was the Milky Way, but I see something like it in this recent painting from Judith Trepp, rendered with exquisite subtlety and sensitivity and tremendous color sense. It's an epic expression of introversion, and I think it is something like a masterpiece. Quiet is the new loud, and inside is the new outside.