I paint and paint over what I paint. Rarely when I feel finished, do I leave the painting to ponder as such. But it happens now and then. This painting is my favorite. It might exist still, I don’t know. It was moving day and I was walking by a pile of garbage in an alley, I realized it belonged there for someone else, or no one else. Not because it’s trash. It is full of meaning and holds a story I love. But I was done. I will love it always, and love it more because its life moved on without me. The story in the painting has something to do with breaking through abuse. The obstacle that is a lie. I drank a lot of mezcal and smoked a pack of cigarettes while I painted and processed. It was raw and amazing and full of peace. The peace remains.