I drew 91 drawings of vines after my mother died in August and my father died in October of the same year.  It was my way of mourning. These were intuitive drawings, and only later did I fathom their meaning. They are lives lived – vines intertwined winding through time, trumpet and briar blooming in fire.

If we were vines we could look back and see all who we had touched.  Always they sought to flower.  Maybe I drew vines because when I first moved to Texas I pulled down vines for days that were encircling and killing my bushes.  I left red trumpet vines to climb high in one tree.

In the AFEW collaborative installation at a SIGGRAPH conference,  my animated images were projected on oversize "clothes."  Patterns moved across surfaces in the darkened room.

When I taught in Italy I drew laundry.  I walked the byways of our little Tuscan town, and stopped to draw what I saw.  I did not take a camera with me to Europe that trip, because all I wanted to do was draw.  I stayed over spring break while all my students fled to distant cities which I had already visited years before.  I was already there....

I drew whatever I wanted wherever I went in my shelves of sketchbooks.  With my left hand I gently held back time.