My mother, hating the art I did as an adult, kept the art I did as a child. After her death I found my fears, hopes, dreams and desires, both real and imagined, stuffed into a cardboard box in the attic.
Sitting on the wooden floor I watched my abstract scrawls transform into representations of the multiple forces that surrounded my childhood.
Using crayons as a wax tongue I described, among other things, my cat Mickey screaming Meowr. A eureka moment, no less profound than Archimedes when he discovered a way to determine the purity of gold by applying the principle of specific gravity, occurred when I discovered that my cat Mickey’s ears formed the letter M and Mickey said Meowr.