The series called "Vocal Landscapes" begins grappling with the question of "do we fill our images with a conscious message for those who view the work, or do we release a message that the image/subject has to tell us (story telling/story listening)." I was at the time, beginning the work of discerning the role of the narrative in my drawings, paintings, and prints. These little landscape drawings and paintings insisted on telling the story that landscapes tell to one who listens and loves what she hears while standing in the rain, the mud and the snow. I was repeatedly pulled back to the same little group of trees by the lushness and the drama of the setting: the Susquehanna River in upstate New York. There was the wonderful smell of wild garlic, damp ground and warm wood. The seasons kept the riverbank edge in constant transformation, and all things living and growing there were forced to adjust. Once, after a storm, I discovered that my favorite tree had been snapped in two, but not a blade of grass was disturbed: flexibility vs. strength. I encountered the territoriality of the squirrels and I loved the shiny backs of the water rats. This place had a visible liveliness, and as I worked again and again with this family of eleven trees, I began to hear its dialogue.