This is a painting in the water series. It's made up of 156 six-inch panels. Each panel is for sale and is titled from a line in Paul Valéry's poem, In praise of water!. Here's the underpainting as I start the process. As of today I've pre-sold 9. Don't miss out on your chance to be part of the bigger picture.

Once complete, a limited edition print of the piece in its entirety will also be available for $40 and the poem broadside for $25.

Here is the poem twice: Once as numbered paintings and then in the prose. (the titles with lines through them are sold)

1. Many have sung wine.
2. Innumerable the poets who have lyrically ennobled their drunkenness,
3. pledging the gods
4. in the strong cup
5. their soul has desired.
6. Most precious wine,
7. worthy of all praise!
8. And yet the folly and
9. ingratitude of those among them
10. who have spoken ill of water.
11. Divine limpidity,
12. living crystal,
13. marvelous agent of life,
14. universal water,
15. I shall offer you unbidden
16. the homage of litanies without end.
17. I shall speak of still water,
18. landscape's ultimate luxury,
19. stretching her sheets of total calm
20. in whose pure face
21. the reflections of all things
22. seem more perfect than their origins,
23. and all Nature is Narcissus
24. and with itself in love.
25. Of moving water,
26. by sweetness and violence,
27. oozings and usings fabulously slow,
28. by the weight of its currents
29. and unbridled whirlpools,
30. by fog and downpour,
31. by streamlets, waterfalls, and cataracts,
32. fashioning rock,
33. polishing granite,
34. wearing marble,
35. interminably sphering pebbles,
36. lulling and trailing in idle drifts
37. and soft beaches
38. all her finished sand.
39. She works and alters,
40. she shapes and adorns,
41. the sad brutal face of callous soil.
42. Of multiform water,
43. tenant of clouds, amasser of the abyss:
44. she lies in snow on sunlit peaks,
45. whence issuing pure
46. she goes by tracks she knows,
47. blind but strangely certain
48. down unconquerably to the ocean
49. where she most abides.
50. At times, swift,
51. slow,
52. lucid in the light of day
53. she chases herself
54. with a mysterious murmur that alter suddenly
55. into a leaping torrent's bellowing,
56. soon swallowed
57. in the perpetual thunder of shuddering,
58. dazzling falls
59. with circlets
60. of rainbow in their mist.
61. But at others steals away
62. to travel secret,
63. penetrative,
64. below the earth.
65. She searches mineral beds,
66. picking,
67. and winding into them
68. by devious ways.
69. She seeks herself
70. in the absolute night,
71. finds herself and is one.
72. She pierces, rummages, dissolves,
73. sweats through,
74. slides down rick veins,
75. is busy about her fantastic labyrinth
76. in which she is never lost;
77. and then subsides in the tombs of lakes she nourishes
78. with long tears that set in marble columns,
79. cathedrals of darkness
80. venting infernal streams
81. that breed blind fishes and shellfish
82. older than the flood.
83. And in these perilous adventures
84. what strange things water has known!
85. And strangely she knows them.
86. For her substance is her memory:
87. she picks
88. and gathers memorials of all she has brushed against,
89. bathed,
90. in her course rolled —
91. of the limestone she
92. has scooped,
93. the rockbeds
94. she has smoothed,
95. of the rich sands
96. through which she has sunk.
97. When she gushes into day she is charged
98. with all powers and virtues
99. of her traversed rocks.
100. With her she fetches scatterings of atoms,
101. of elements of naked energy,
102. of bubbles of subterranean gas,
103. at times indeed of the very heat
104. of the molten middle earth.
105. And so she rises,
106. laden with the gleanings of her way,
107. to offer herself
108. to the needs of life.
109. How not venerate this very essence of all life?
110. And yet how few men understand that
111. life is no more nor less than water organized!
112. Consider a plan,
113. regard a mighty tree,
114. and you will discern that
115. it is none other than an upright river
116. pouring into the air of the sky.
117. By the tree water
118. climbs to meet light.
119. Of a few salts in the earth
120. water constructs a body that is in love with the day,
121. to the whole universe stretching and out-stretching
122. liquid powerful arms that end in gentle hands.
123. Man comes to rest
124. where there is water.
125. What more necessary than that cool sweet nymph?
126. The nymph and the spring
127. stand at that holy place
128. where life sits down and looks around her.
129. And here one will understand that
130. there is also a drunkenness of water.
131. To drink!
132. ...To drink...
133. Well one knows
134. that pure thirst is quenched
135. only in pure water.
136. There is something exact and satisfactory
137. in this matching
138. of the real desire
139. of the organism
140. with the element of its origin.
141. To thirst is to lack
142. a part of oneself,
143. and thus to dwindle into another.
144. Then one must make good that lack,
145. complete oneself again,
146. by repairing to what all life demands.
147. The very language is filled
148. with the praise of water.
149. We say that we thirst for truth.
150. We speak of a limpid discourse.
151. At times we burst
152. into a torrent of words.
153. Time itself has drawn
154. from the coursing of water
155. the figures in which it presents itself.
156. To water be all praise!

In Praise of Water

Many have sung wine.

Innumerable the poets who have lyrically ennobled their drunkenness, pledging the gods in the strong cup their soul has desired.

Most precious wine, worthy of all praise! And yet the folly and ingratitude of those among them who have spoken ill of water.

Divine limpidity, living crystal, marvelous agent of life, universal water, I shall offer you unbidden the homage of litanies without end.

I shall speak of still water, landscapes ultimate luxury, stretching her sheets of total calm in whose pure face the reflections of all things seem more perfect than their origins, and all Nature is Narcissus and with itself in love.

Of moving water, by sweetness and violence, oozings and usings fabulously slow, by the weight of its currents and unbridled whirlpools, by fog and downpour, by streamlets, waterfalls, and cataracts, fashioning rock, polishing granite, wearing marble, interminably sphering pebbles, lulling and trailing in idle drifts and soft beaches all her finished sand. She works and alters, she shapes and adorns, the sad brutal face of callous soil.

Of multiform water, tenant of clouds, amasser of the abyss: she lies in snow on sunlit peaks, whence issuing pure she goes by tracks she knows, blind but strangely certain down unconquerably to the ocean where she most abides.

At times, swift, slow, lucid in the light of day she chases herself with a mysterious murmur that alter suddenly into a leaping torrent's bellowing, soon swallowed in the perpetual thunder of shuddering, dazzling falls with circlets of rainbow in their mist.

But at others steals away to travel secret, penetrative, below the earth. She searches mineral beds, picking, and winding into them by devious ways. She seeks herself in the absolute night, finds herself and is one. She pierces, rummages, dissolves, sweats through, slides down rick veins, is busy about her fantastic labyrinth in which she is never lost; and then subsides in the tombs of lakes she nourishes with long tears that set in marble columns, cathedrals of darkness venting infernal streams that breed blind fishes and shellfish older than the flood.

And in these perilous adventures what strange things water has known! And strangely she knows them. For her substance is her memory: she picks and gathers memorials of all she has brushed against, bathed, in her course rolled, of the limestone she has scooped, the rockbeds she has smoothed, of the rich sands through which she has sunk. When she gushes into day she is charged with all powers and virtues of her traversed rocks. With her she fetches scatterings of atoms, of elements of naked energy, of bubbles of subterranean gas, at times indeed of the very heat of the molten middle earth.

And so she rises, laden with the gleanings of her way, to offer herself to the needs of life.

How not venerate this very essence of all life? And yet how few men understand that life is no more nor less than water organized!
Consider a plan, regard a mighty tree, and you will discern that it is none other than an upright river pouring into the air of the sky. By the tree water climbs to meet light. Of a few salts in the earth water constructs a body that is in love with the day, to the whole universe stretching and out-stretching liquid powerful arms that end in gentle hands.

Man comes to rest where there is water. What more necessary than that cool sweet nymph? The nymph and the spring stand at that holy place where life sits down and looks around her.

And here one will understand that there is also a drunkenness of water. To drink! To drink. Well one knows that pure thirst is quenched only in pure water. There is something exact and satisfactory in this matching of the real desire of the organism with the element of its origin. To thirst is to lack a part of oneself, and thus to dwindle into another. Then one must make good that lack, complete oneself again, by repairing to what all life demands.

The very language is filled with the praise of water. We say that we thirst for truth. We speak of a limpid discourse. At times we burst into a torrent of words.

Time itself has drawn from the coursing of water the figures in which it presents itself.

To water be all praise!