Every exit is an entry somewhere else. Tom Stoppard
Back at Home
Now my finger traces my journey on the large U.S. map. I sort through the collected art cards. I flip through the daily memorabilia sheets strung on bulging metal rings. I listen to the tapes. I look through the trip photos stored on my computer. I’m flooded by memories of moments. I relive excitement, doubt, anxiety, surprise, joy.
White fabrics await my imprint. Silk screens open to new images. Dye powders are ready to flow as liquid. Soap erasers wait to be carved into icons. The colors, images, shapes, and textures are in a holding pattern waiting to express feelings, sensations, places.
The journey continues.