Not landscape paintings, or landscape photographs, but landscapes in reality. Landscapes that change from day to day, from minute to minute. Watching how the depth and color of the land are affected by the light. Watching the fog roll between the branches of the trees. Watching the waves crash for hours on end. Landscapes are a living thing through which we perceive them to be still. Like a vase of flowers. Like a bowl of fruit. Landscapes move and breathe, sometimes even heave with emotional fury. They burn and cry and speak to us. Landscapes in paintings are but a portrait, captured as if they were a person caught in a daydream, caught in a momentary stillness, caught in a second of life.