Unmounted Oilgraph with wax // 11” x 14”

Circa 1995.

"You've come so far...
You tried so hard...

Now seemingly at the end of things
you find the bowl empty
and all the work of your hands
blows away like ash

Hunger is a fire
that burns slow and cold
Your heart consumes itself
Your body a foreign object
and even your skin beathes a different scent

But hope is a whisper
quiet as dust

it is the longing of a child
through whose eyes we must look again
anew

and once seen
cannot be unseen"