Isn't it strange how difficult it is to write a description of yourself. I'm the accumulation of many years of experience, effort and thought. The total is surprisingly confounded and perplexed by the world and the choices I still have to make in order to survive with an ounce of sanity. My art is the sanity that I hold on to and sometimes I think ' it's all there is to my life.' I don't mean to sound somber because art is one of the best choices we can make to find the elusive meaning to life. When I was young, sex was the meaning to life and everything revolved around those needs. Though, even then I sensed the loneliness of the tightest embrace. Oh, how I long for the certainness of youth. Now, I ponder the life-line of a wrinkle.