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In the spring, after my loft in
New York was burned, I came back to the building to work each
day. This corner of the studio was relatively intact; behind
the "camera" the roof was still caved in and the
floor opened, everything charred. I painted the hope I could
find: the promise of a blank canvas, narcissus given to me
as I walked from the subway, a place to work again... all
these helped me reclaim my life and put things in perspective.
Only later did I see the sinister
line of red running through the scene. I went on to other
places within two weeks.
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