The pyramids rose like islands in the drifting sand. When we declined the offer from a white-robed Egyptian to mount camels and be carried to the pyramids, we had to trek across the immense desert on foot. Ahead of us, our children swayed atop a dusty hump like wise men moving toward the big-shot triangles of immortality in the distance. It seemed I was not moving forward except for some invisible life line pulling me along. Sand buckled under my feet. I seemed engaged in a crossing without end.
The journey connected me to my process of painting. My paintings first involve me, then seem to take off without me, pulling me along by some invisible life line. My paintings sometimes unfurl themselves step by step, leaving me behind to catch up later.