The arrival of children in the middle years of my life had been preceded by decades of solitude, of long hours working first with drawing and then with the photographic medium. I found the process of shielding images made in the light from the light itself inexplicably intriguing. Following the death of one of my fraternal twin brothers, I began once again to draw and through the ritual act of binding dust to paper found a way to renew and celebrate my connection to the natural world. During the ferocious years of parenting, I had but broken fragments of time. Confronted by the escalating unpredictable demands within my personal life, I embraced other pathways of expression, deepening my engagement with writing, exploring performance poetry and speaking on the nature of metaphor from an artistís perspective. As you can see, the formal list of exhibitions, performances, presentations and publications that follows creates an artificial illusion of clarity about the nature of my life journey. It does not begin to describe unpremeditated moments of sheer joy, the despair that accompanies "sparrow nights," Chekovís phrase for passages through the dark regions of the soul, or unforeseen accidents of fate that shaped my life journey in strange and wonderful ways. I have loved, as I believe many artists do, feeling caught in the indescribable, unpredictable, unforeseen web of moments that lie at the heart of creative work.