Culmination captures the cresting wave of hope that defined the 1960s—a moment when rock & roll became not just a sound, but a social force. As local bands found their audiences and festivals like Monterey Pop and Woodstock gathered the faithful, a new generation emerged: one that didn’t just hear the music, but followed its call.

The central flower blooms as a symbol of that vision—change, peace, and possibility bursting forth. It’s radiant, unapologetic, and full of promise. Yet the hands below, weaving string toys, speak to the fragility of that dream. Their gestures are earnest but uncertain, echoing the naïve belief that transformation could be immediate and enduring.

The woven form in the lower right—a Navajo Gate—opens onto the threshold of history. It’s both portal and paradox: a sacred geometry of hope, stitched with longing and idealism. The butterflies, camouflaged in the background, flutter as quiet witnesses. They embody the dream of the flower children—still alive, still growing, but softer now, more delicate, more hidden.

Fluorescent pigments and rhinestone shimmer evoke the visual language of Haight-Ashbury and the psychedelic posters of the era. In Culmination, light becomes memory, and color becomes conviction.

This canvas is not a eulogy—it’s a continuation. A reminder that the spirit of change, once shouted from festival stages, now hums gently in the margins, waiting to be heard again.