Under a patch of undergrowth, once a fistful of perfect golden chanterelles lay hidden. I didn’t see them until I did, I was the first human who did I think, and I felt their weight and a special type primal hunther/gatherer satisfaction as I put them in this paper bag I brought

Or maybe it was plastic

But the memory of the hidden treasure is strong with the sun sending playful somewhat blinding rays on the surface of the water with was fringed by this greenery.

When I — by accident as I was browsing — found that Katherine Kerr had started writing a new series set in the same Deverry world, and bought the first one of these books, I felt just a similar type of joy.

I made the connexion because these occurrences were only days apart if it wasn’t on the same day in fact? It doesn’t matter

And it was a pleasure to visit this world again

When I started I took great pleasure in having a series of twelve (then later sixteen) books with this world but I read them all eventually and then of course to see it again was like they say like visiting an old friend, you know. It doesn’t take long until it’s just like it was before — just like it was supposed to be

You know?

LIKE A LADY BUG

What I love about Rio is the feeling of untouched alleyways, shaded by generous almond trees, yet the passersby never grab its fruits, perhaps because of the salty winds, or simply out of love for its silence, All the paineiras of Ipanema sit there patiently, protecting all couples in their long, slow kisses, while branches are entertained on their delicate, solitary journey of exploring lightness through the air. Roots know nothing but to seek, to seek; its flowers know nothing but to bloom and give.

There are corners of Rio where the world seems to have stopped in ’95, where the passing of time is measured only by the ice cream cone melting in my hand. Who is born here carries an open heart as destiny, and a gentle indifference toward the rest of the world, poor souls who never tasted this light, the one that rises over the mountains before surrendering itself to the sea.

Here I was born on a sunny spring 1990, my mom couldn't lay down the last two weeks, the umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby's neck, said the doctor: Forget October 11th, she should be born earlier, scheduled September 28th. My mom sat on her bergère in the living room listening to the neighbor playing bossa nova, Tom Jobim that's how I orchestrated my prelude to life. And then just in time for the first flowers to bloom, a week after the beginning of spring, 08:17 of a sunny friday, crescent moon, I had my first breath into the world. My mom dressed me in red and in his first visit, my brother said: “She looks like a lady bug.”

/mar26

Rangers vs Padres

Listening now to the Padres Radio Network for pregame coverage to be followed by the call of my afternoon's MLB Spring Training Game of choice featuring the San Diego Padres vs my Texas Rangers. Go Rangers!

And the adventure continues.

The litigation between the Kwantlen Student Association and Yakshit Shetty (LinkedIn) was reported on in the Runner on February 14 2026.

The following are the public court documents which can be accessed by anybody in Canada.

Notice of Civil Claim

Response To Civil Claim

Reply

We will be releasing the court documents of the two other (254775, 250796) cases reported in the same story. Stay tuned!

Dead gods tell no tales, only the True and Living God's name will endure forever. No marketing required.

Now this is what Jehovah says, your Creator, O Jacob, the One who formed you, O Israel:

Do not be afraid, for I have repurchased you. I have called you by your name. You belong to me.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they will not flood over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame singe you.

For I am Jehovah your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I have given Egypt as a ransom for you, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.

For you became precious in my eyes. You were honored, and I have loved you. So I will give people in place of you and nations in exchange for your life.

Do not be afraid, for I am with you. I will bring your offspring from the east and gather you together from the west. I will say to the north, “Give them up!” and to the south, “Do not hold them back. Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth, everyone who is called by my name and whom I created for my own glory, whom I have formed and made.”

Bring out a people who are blind, though they have eyes, and who are deaf, though they have ears.

Let all the nations assemble in one place, and let the peoples be gathered together. Who among them can tell this? Or can they cause us to hear the former things? Let them present their witnesses to prove themselves right, or let them hear and say, “It is the truth.”

“You are my witnesses,” declares Jehovah, “yes, my servant whom I have chosen, so that you may know and have faith in me and understand that I am the same One. Before me no God was formed, and after me there has been none.

I—I am Jehovah, and besides me there is no savior.

I am the One who declared and saved and made known when there was no foreign god among you. So you are my witnesses,” declares Jehovah, “and I am God. Also, I am always the same One, and no one can snatch anything out of my hand. When I act, who can prevent it?”

This is what Jehovah says, your Repurchaser, the Holy One of Israel:

For your sakes I will send to Babylon and bring down all the bars of the gates, and the Chaldeans, in their ships, will cry out in distress.

I am Jehovah, your Holy One, the Creator of Israel, your King.

This is what Jehovah says, the One making a way through the sea and a path through turbulent waters, the One who draws out the war chariot and the horse, the army together with the mighty warriors:

They will lie down and not get up. They will be extinguished, snuffed out like a burning wick.

Do not remember the former things, and do not dwell on the past.

Look! I am doing something new. Even now it is springing up. Do you not recognize it?

I will make a way through the wilderness and rivers through the desert. The wild beast of the field will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches, for I provide water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, for my people, my chosen one, to drink, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.

But you have not called on me, O Jacob, because you grew weary of me, O Israel.

You have not brought me sheep for your whole burnt offerings or glorified me with your sacrifices. I have not compelled you to bring me a gift, nor have I made you weary by demanding frankincense.

You did not buy me sweet cane with your money, and with the fat of your sacrifices you did not satisfy me.

Instead, you have burdened me with your sins and made me weary with your errors.

I, I am the One who is blotting out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins.

Remind me; let us bring our case against each other. Tell your side of it to prove you are in the right.

Your first forefather sinned, and your own spokesmen have rebelled against me.

So I will profane the princes of the holy place, and I will give Jacob over to destruction and subject Israel to insulting words.

Now listen, O Jacob my servant, and you, O Israel, whom I have chosen.

This is what Jehovah says, your Maker and the One who formed you, who has helped you from the womb:

Do not be afraid, my servant Jacob, and you, Jeshurun, whom I have chosen.

For I will pour out water on the thirsty one and flowing streams on the dry ground. I will pour out my spirit on your offspring and my blessing on your descendants.

They will spring up among the green grass like poplars by the streams of water.

One will say, “I belong to Jehovah.” Another will call himself by the name of Jacob. Yet another will write on his hand, “Belonging to Jehovah.” And he will adopt the name of Israel.

This is what Jehovah says, the King of Israel and his Repurchaser, Jehovah of armies:

I am the first and I am the last. There is no God but me.

Who is there like me? Let him call out and tell it and prove it to me. From the time I established the people of long ago, let them tell both the things to come and what will yet happen.

Do not be in dread, and do not become paralyzed with fear. Have I not told each of you beforehand and declared it?

You are my witnesses. Is there any God but me? No, there is no other Rock. I know of none.

All who form carved images amount to nothing, and their cherished objects will be of no benefit. As their witnesses, they see nothing and know nothing, so those who made them will be put to shame.

Who would form a god or cast a metal image that can bring no benefit?

Look! All his associates will be put to shame. The craftsmen are mere humans. Let them all assemble and take their stand. They will be terrified and be put to shame together.

The metalsmith works the iron over the coals with his tool. He forms it with hammers, working it with his powerful arm. Then he grows hungry and his strength fails. He drinks no water and grows tired.

The wood-carver stretches the measuring line, tracing out the pattern with red chalk. He works it with a wood scraper and traces it with a compass. He patterns it after a man, with the beauty of a man, to sit in a house.

There is one whose work is to cut down cedars. He selects a certain type of tree, an oak, and he lets it grow strong among the trees of the forest. He plants a laurel tree, and the rain makes it grow.

Then it becomes fuel for a man to make fires. He takes part of it to warm himself. He builds a fire and bakes bread. But he also makes a god and worships it. He makes it into a carved image and bows down before it.

Half of it he burns up in a fire. With that half he roasts the meat that he eats and is satisfied. He also warms himself and says, “Ah! I am warm as I watch the fire.”

But the rest of it he makes into a god, into his carved image. He bows down to it and worships it. He prays to it and says, “Save me, for you are my god.”

They know nothing, they understand nothing, because their eyes are sealed shut and they cannot see, and their heart has no insight.

No one reflects in his heart or has understanding, saying: “Half of it I burned up in a fire, and on its coals I baked bread and roasted meat to eat. Should I then make the rest of it into a detestable thing? Should I worship a block of wood from a tree?”

He feeds on ashes. His own deluded heart has led him astray. He cannot save himself, nor does he say, “Is there not a lie in my right hand?”

Remember these things, O Jacob, and you, O Israel, for you are my servant. I formed you, and you are my servant. O Israel, I will not forget you.

I will blot out your transgressions as with a cloud and your sins as with a thick cloud.

Return to me, for I will repurchase you.

Shout joyfully, you heavens, for Jehovah has acted! Shout in triumph, you depths of the earth! Shout for joy, you mountains, you forest and all your trees!

For Jehovah has repurchased Jacob, and on Israel he displays his splendor.

This is what Jehovah says, your Repurchaser, who formed you since you were in the womb:

I am Jehovah, who made everything. I stretched out the heavens by myself, and I spread out the earth. Who was with me?

I frustrate the signs of the empty talkers and make diviners act like fools, confounding the wise men and turning their knowledge into foolishness.

I make the word of my servant come true and completely fulfill the predictions of my messengers.

I say of Jerusalem, “She will be inhabited,” and of the cities of Judah, “They will be rebuilt, and I will restore her ruins.”

I say to the deep waters, “Be evaporated, and I will dry up all your rivers.”

I say of Cyrus, “He is my shepherd, and he will completely carry out all my will.”

I say of Jerusalem, “She will be rebuilt,” and of the temple, “Your foundation will be laid.”

OK, maybe not phonetically. But for a museum dedicated to open access, a decentralised, non-algorithmic social media platform seems an obvious place to make ourselves available and claim a space for the national Danish art collection.

A mastodon (well, some sort of mammoth) figurine visiting SMK

Last week, on an early spring Friday, we took our first baby steps into the Fediverse, the collection of platforms connected by the ActivityPub protocol. We did this by setting up an account on the cosy Danish expressional.social server populated by friendly-seeming natives (with an endearing love of image alt texts).

Now, that previous paragraph contains the words ‘protocol’ and ‘server’ and admittedly the Fediverse does require some acclimatisation: it’s just a slightly more abstract concept than your average centralised service. But such is the price of openness and flexibility. When you can “do” the Fediverse almost any way you please, choose your own server and choose your own app, things immediately become a bit complicated.

Slightly technical as it may be, it’s also very promising. The early adopters stand ready to help, all the features (and more) that you may want from a Twitter/X-like platform are available and the non-algorithmic focus imparts a feeling of control. On Mastodon you may be slightly confused, but you’re also very much in charge.

Of course, what you’re not getting is content going viral to a massive audience. Mastodon is thinly populated at this time. So we’re decidedly not there for the reach but because we see clear affinities with our openness ambitions, because the platform’s open architecture may allow for really interesting re-use/automatisation and because there might be a time where the current social media behemoths lose steam. In which case our mastodon riding skills may well come in handy.

We’re starting small. But we see great potential – not least for joining forces across museums and other fine cultural institutions. French cultural institutions are getting together at ReseauCulture.fr – and perhaps Danish/Nordic ones should look very closely at that model. Hit us up if you’d like to talk! 🤗

🏠 SMK on Mastodon (we speak Danish)

Our first Mastodon post

Je n’ai jamais connu la guerre. Je suis issu d’une génération privilégiée. Né au bon moment. Né au bon endroit.

Mes parents l’ont connue.

Mon père, né en 1939, ne pouvait pas savoir, au moment de fêter son cinquième anniversaire, ce que c’était que la paix.

Ma mère, née en 1944, a bien failli ne pas être ma mère. Ses frères et sœurs, dans leur précipitation, l’ont une nuit oubliée en courant se réfugier dans la cave. Les bombes ne sont pas tombées loin, une armoire a basculé sur son berceau. Ils étaient solides les berceaux, en ce temps là.

Comme tant d’autres de sa génération, mon père est allé en Algérie. On ne lui a pas demandé son avis… Il en est revenu, lui.

Je suis né quelques années après.

Mes grand parents ont connu deux guerres. Mes arrières grands parents ont connu deux guerres. Je pourrais continuer longtemps comme ça, si je le voulais.

Je l’ai dit : génération privilégiée.

Et pourtant…

Même si je n’ai pas connu la guerre, même si je ne l’ai pas vécue dans ma chair, ce que j’en sait me suffit largement.

Mais la guerre n’est pas un choix.

On fait la guerre- par défaut – parce qu’il est trop tard – parce que les autres options sont épuisées – parce que les décisions qu’il aurait fallu prendre à temps n’ont pas été prises – parce qu’à un moment le courage à manqué.

Parce que les puissants ont manqué de courage. Parce qu’ils n’ont pas su écouter. Parce qu’ils croyaient savoir. Parce qu’ils étaient bien trop arrogants pour reconnaître qu’ils s’étaient trompés.

Alors ils en envoient d’autres se faire tuer.

C’est compliqué la paix.

Ça demande du courage, de l’écoute, du respect.

Alors que c’est si simple la guerre.

Il y a les gentils, il y a les mauvais.

Et puis, il y a tant d’argent à gagner…

^{Chapter Index ARFGAM contains mature themes and at times is #NSFW}

After leaving Michelle, Stelmaria and Chad were having a conversation about whether she should make herself known to his family. Surprisingly, Chad's position was the logical one. Unsurprisingly, Stelmaria would convince him to agree to her position. This conversation was long, repetitive, and boring. Luckily, more interesting things were happing on ethereal side of reality.

***

Sebastian whistled at his workbench and chipped away at the piece of petrified wood. Making petrified wood chips was the one simple alchemical task he had never assigned to an assistant. He found it relaxing. His boss Trinity had a long standing complaint that it was 'a simple task way below his pay grade'. Since Sebastian knew all she would ever do about it is tell him in performance reviews that his refusal to allocate this task was 'beyond unacceptable and incredibly petty,' so he cheerfully ignored her complaints.

Sebastian had been working as an alchemist at the Ethereal Alliance Tranquility Council's Office of Courageous, Kind, & Laudable Interdisciplinary Civilian Knights that Virtuously and Ardently Guarantee the Terrific Omnipresent Civilized Utopia is Maintained for decades. Growing up Sebastian had been sure of two things. The first was that he wanted to be an alchemist. The second was that his family was too poor to afford the admission fees for an alchemical school. As a result he pursued an Alliance program that would cover his education in exchange for ten years of government service following its completion. When he first learned he had been assigned to the Knights, he assumed the ten years of service would be miserable. By year five he had come to realize that he loved being a knight.

Three years after this realization that he met his spouse, Taylor. They were an heir to a sizable family fortune dating back to pre-Alliance times. When they proposed to him it made the decision on if he should leave the Knights for a higher paying job when his required service was complete, an easy one.

Now at the age of sixty-seven, he found himself as both the Chief of Alchemy and Assistant Director, Field Force Support. The latter of which he had become because fifteen years prior when the AD2FS who had been his primary mentor retired, Sebastian informed Giovanni, the Knight Director, he did not want to report to “whoever he thinks can do the job justice”. Giovanni, agreed that Sebastian could report directly to him. Sebastian loved this arrangement because the Knight Director has l zero time to spend managing the Chief of Alchemy.

Eight years later Giovanni retired. The current Knight Director, Trinity, succeeded him. Unfortunately for Sebastian, Trinity happened to be the AD2FS that he had refused to report to. The first thing Trinity said to Sebastian after being named Knight Director was “I have an amazing opportunity for you.”

Sebastian hated the administrative bullshit that went with being AD2FS, but cared about the Knight's mission enough to do a good chunk of it. He did all the stuff he thought was actually necessary for the success of the mission. He skipped all the dumb bureaucratic stuff like attending departmental budget reviews or Trinity's weekly leadership meetings.

Sebastian had been making petrified wood chips for the last six hours. It was one of his days off. He was stressed. If the mission had gone remotely well, Des would have been back yesterday. At thirty and three Despoina was the youngest Field Knight in the twelve millennia of the Knight's existence to be named Regnar-Leas, the highest field rank. In Sebastian's opinion, she was on her way to being the greatest Knight the Alliance would ever see. Still, he disagreed with her and Trinity's decision to send her on this mission solo. The delay in her return was all the proof he needed that he was right.

Chipping the petrified wood was the only thing keeping him from imagining how he was going to explain to Taylor that a Massena Escapee brutally murdered their little sister and was most likely harvesting souls in Tempo to try and grow in power because she had been raised in a cult dedicated to reestablishing the ancient Seelie Court and murdering all fiends as well as any älva and kodoma subtypes traditional folklore tends to associates with the Unseelie. It was not a conversation he wanted to have with his spouse.

The chunk he was working on had been as big as his head at the start of the day, it was now smaller than his thumb. He did not have any more, and he knew it. His hearts were an anxious tick-thunk, tick-thunk, like a pair of drums in his chest. When the steady beat was interrupted by the screech of his office door swinging open, he was so surprised he nearly fell off his stool.

The hand that smacked a pile of silver coins down on his desk was covered in dry blood and mud, but there was purple paint on its long pointy finger-nails. Sebastian felt every one of his muscles relax. There was one more tick-thunk and then he only heard his sister-in laws heavy breathing. He spun on his stool and jumped into her arms.

“What you are not going to gloat?” Des managed to say, she sounded exhausted.

Gloat? Sebastian was not sure what she could possibly be talking about. “I have been chipping petrified wood for hours Des. I thought I was going to be telling Tee about your brutal execution by a lunatic. I would have made Trinity tell your parents though.”

“Well now I am a bit disappointed. I guess surviving means that I lost my bet to you and that Trinity gets to avoid a conversation she would have hated.”

“What did the boss say when you gave her your report?”

“Errrrr, I do not know. I have not seen her yet. I just got back.”

“Despoina, why in the Arcanum did you not send a report ahead? This was critical-CRITICAL shit. I told you time and again the samples I looked at suggested that Stelmaria may be the strongest hyōsei to exist in this age. Trinity has probably been preparing a report for the Tranquility Council since yesterday morning assuming...” Sebastian chuckled and leaned onto his young sister in-law. “Fuck Des, even I would not dare to fuck with the boss that much. Does it make me a bad AD that I am proud? Rhetorical question, I do not care if I am a bad AD that would be Trinity's fault for being petty and promoting me.”

Sebastian looked up at Despoina's face for the first time. There was not a hint of amusement in her face which was strange because fucking with Trinity was pretty much the only thing that made his sister in-law smile. “You are being earily quiet Des, keep it up and I will call you 'Little Si...Ouch”

“I may be about to collapse you shithead but I am not deaf. Nobody calls me that but the one sibling I still talk to. That includes that one sibling's husband who I regrettably have to interact with as part of my job. I am juiced. Alchemical. Blood. Right. Now. Before. I. Decide. To. Drink. Yours.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes at that. “Des I know, you know that gnome magic cannot be harvested even by a pterafri sucking our blood. I also know you do not even eat fish because you do not want to be like your parents. Why do you need Alchemical? You will have enough time to spend sleeping with a bloodstone before Trinity assigns you something knew. The side effects can be pretty bad if it is not made right you know?”

“Seb, I did not get her. She escaped...with a human.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

Despoina covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “He shot me, in the eye, with an iron tipped wooden arrow.”

“GAHAHAHAAHAAAHAAAAA,” Sebastian fell to the floor laughing. He knew it was wrong but a puny human besting his sister in-law with a human made weapon was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “Sorry, sorry, sorry I know this is serious this is just...what are the odds? Arcane shit. It had to be pure iron Des its the only way right? Fuck that is impossible and then the shaft was wood? Fuck, do you know most human weapons have not been made out of pure iron in centuries?” Sebastian, took a deep breath. “Sorry, I am sorry this is serious.”

He got up and grabbed a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked a small silver chest sitting on his work bench. “I made some yesterday afternoon when you had not returned. Just in case. There are exactly three fairies in the known realm that could make a better substitute for the real thing. I am not saying there will not be side effects but I am saying I feel pretty confident none of them will be permanent.” He held up a large glass phial about half the size of a bottle of wine. It was filled with a thick maroon cream.

Despoina snatched the phial out of his hand, popped open the lid and sniffed it. “How many times have you made Alchemical Blood Sebastian?”

Sebastian watched sweat pool on Des' brow as she examined his work. “Yesterday was the first, second, third, and fourth times I have made Alchemical blood. I destroyed the first two due to lack of color uniformity, which some studies have linked to more extreme crashes. The third I feared was rather low in potency based on arcane readings so I destroyed that one after I made this one, which is the fourth. As I said there might be a handful of fairies that could do better.”

Sebastian crossed his arms and smirked as he added, “It costs a small fortune to make a single phial, the entire annual alchemical supply budget the council gives me would have been wiped out by what it cost me to make these four. I bought the ingredients with your family's money. I told Taylor you had a mission that was dangerous enough I wanted to have some special ingredients outside of the Council's budget just in case you came back with something that would otherwise be very painful to treat.”

Des grimaced, “did they buy that?”

“Nope. They said to tell you that craving blood is a part of who you are and does not make you your mother.”

“I am going to gut that fucking fur ball for making me do this,” Despoina vowed. Then she tilted her head back, lifted the phial to her lips, and slammed it back in three giant gulps. It was sickly sweet. “Not as disgusting as your mint flavored memory salve, but a close second.”

She turned and walked out the door. Magically mending and cleaning her soiled clothes with a wave of her hand on her way out.

***

Meanwhile back in the temporal side of reality Stelmaria had eventually gotten Chad to agree with her by offering him a boob job. He was now passed out on his bed snoring loudly. Stelmaria said a quick chant to make sure her cute bean would stay asleep while she was out hunting. Then jumped out his bedroom window, shifted into her beast form, and trotted off towards town.

AUTHOR's NOTE: The reader is likely to notice that as we explored the Ethereal Alliance's civilization that the there are abbreviations, acronyms, and slang was common. Some of these readers may be thinking something akin to 'So I am just supposed to accept that this fantasy world is based in the English language and Latin alphabet or that somehow their wordplay can translates seamlessly to ours in a way that sometimes creates puns in English by coincidence?' For these readers I would like to offer two different explanatory responses for them to choose from.

OPTION A: Of course not, the language and alphabetS in the world our story is set in in more fantastical and complex than most could comprehend (but not you because you are so brilliant and smart). There writing system was a combination of logographic, phonetic, syllabic, and enigmatic characters (some pictorial and some abstract). The cleanness of the abbreviations has only been added here to make reading easier for less intelligent readers. If this is breaking your immersion I apologize and if there is ever a super deluxe sprayed edged limited premium edition collector's copy, rest assured I pay to have it written in an original language that only people as smart as you can understand.

OPTION B – “Are you aware that most of the worlds languages use acronyms, abbreviations, and slang? That even some of the ancient languages used them? The ancient Greeks and Ancient Romans used both acronyms and abbreviations. I looked it up and there are examples of abbreviations in ancient Mayan written language as well (which I only selected as my example because my (high school level) understanding of ancient history is the Mayans were isolated from Eurasia and Africa until the sixteenth century). I am not an expert on classic literature (also high school level understanding) but I think there are thgere puns in Beowulf, the Illiad/Odyssey, and One Thousand and One Nights? One thing I know for sure is both testamets of the christian bible have wordplay. What was the point of this author's note? No you are not supposed to even think about that so you should not have to accept it. As stated in the forward this story is poorly written. I sincerely apologize if this is a pet peeve of yours and my decision to do this has mad you sad. Let me try to move your mood in a different direction. Despite spending winters alone in the middle of the ocean, Atlantic Puffins are monogamous and mate for life. They come back to the same nest with the same partner year after year. Its like an annual second chance romance or lost lovers or something. How fun!”

< Chapter 4

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^{#Romantasy #RomantasyforMen #Satire}

9 March 2026

Face shield bag (working title): was walking in Vauxhall and found the outer packaging for a set of CPR mannequin shields. Made of transparent plastic, on which was printed a wonderfully-poorly-rendered line drawing diagram showing how to use the product—hands affixing a shield to a mannequin's lifeless face, another (living?) face entering the diagram's second stage to put its lips to the first one. All folded in on itself and resting delicately over sparse weeds sprouting from wet soil squeezed up against a concrete curb. Something about it brought to mind Polke's watchtower series (particularly Watchtower (Hochsitz) from 1984), both in mood—relaxed at a kind of equilibrium but sinister—and visual complexity—the bent plastic packaging caught daylight at odd angles, blocking visibility of the weeds, soil, and diagram here and there. What resulted is a painting that to me feels ancient, like a hieroglyph partially lost to material decay. Which sits in an odd harmony with the satisfaction on the face floating at the top of the composition. The color is indebted to Eliot Porter's Winter Wren, Great Spruce Head Island, Maine (1960), which holds an aspirational kind of long-ago-now-ness that I'm permanently searching for.