March 13 1996




Sitting here in Central Park, enjoying the sun and cacophony of city sounds - horns, traffic, voices, songbirds, ducks, footsteps, bustle. Carol is off trying to scare up work, and me, well I’m trying to fight off the scariness of going home.


In a way I’m ready. I want to plant my garden, buy some flowers, clean my cupboards. Finish projects and start new ones. Develop my photographs and relive King George. But I have this anxiety about how I’m going to share everything.


Where do I start? How do I hold onto things? If I just spew it out I’ll lose details.


I guess I’ll have to prepare something for different audiences. Maybe rough letters? Yes, that’s it and Letters I Never Sent will be a mixed media show with paintings, vignettes, sculpture, installation about my experience and also about communication. Maybe with a table with bricks on it, chairs, maybe a kitchen, excerpts from letters…




Okay, I feel better now.


Looking over at the pond, watching ducks on ice.

Still ice - must have been a very cold winter.