On the way to work one often loses sight of what one looks at every day. The landscape we see is not only the landscape we’ve made with our hands. It is also in our heads. You may have had a bad night and the light embracing the ridge around the bend may not look the same this morning as it did last Friday when you knew you’d be going away for the weekend. The dump truck at the transfer station might conjure the memory of a summer forty years ago, the horse trailer on an infrequently travelled gravel road might knock one into thoughts about “extraordinary rendition.” The car radio may send you Mississippi John Hurt as the moon rises over Glorieta Pass. Painting is never just painting. It is not a precious activity that occurs only in the field or in the studio. It is not only a neat, pretty, unsullied statement standing still in a static world. What lies behind the work is messy, complicated, mysterious, magical, and sometimes insightful. Sometimes an unexpected friend looks after what you call your soul. The work is never finished.