Back. Not sure where to begin. A painter is most likely to depict one scene at a time. In my work, the details are in the background. In the foreground, one thing usually stands out. One human usually dominates my canvases. On this trip, it isn't Tiara at whose studio I stayed in West Berkeley because she wasn't there. Not Sid. I didn't call him. Clearly it is the young man who answered the door of an unfamiliar house in the town where Luke and I lived before he shipped out to the Pacific Front. But I am getting ahead of the story.

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