Cast between thought and feeling my history is a brief bio; a chronology of accomplishments in the industry of art. It’s a sales pitch itemized, a list of notable attainments for the eyes of status conscious collectors. But I am just a fugitive squirrel after all, twitching from too much thinking about the hostage that I am. Of sadness and love, conception and decay, a cluster of cells wiggles to life. Electrons and neutrons whirl about like the great spiraling super galaxies above. And here am I for this time to paint of it what I can. While tyrants rage and children laugh, a stream trickles seaward. A breeze stirs the leaves; the afternoon sun casts shafts of light from mountainous clouds rippling outward. A painting then gets painted.