...into his dowager Victorian that he called the male dormitory, because it accommodated his three beloved sons. He was an excellent conversationalist, well read, buoyant, and an self-soother who had developed comfortable routines within his orderly domain. Though I was fairly content, I looked as if I’d lost my lunch money, with my chronically mournful expression. I also resisted any semblance of a schedule and created clutter in a remarkably short time.
I scanned the negatives and digitally printed a few of the images because Sally Stein, then a fellow at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, was holding the occasional Sunday salon for artists. She wanted to show the comparison of the 72 -73 images to the 02-03 series. I shuddered when I remembered endless hours I spent in the darkroom, perfecting exhibition prints. I was too sensitive to the chemicals to do that any longer. Though I was in spitting distance of seventy, I felt as if I was just getting started.