To enter a shop alone as a mid-twentieth century child is as complex as a peace treaty. They are not friendly spaces. They have codes as mysterious as going unarmed into the liar of a wild animal,  challenged to fight in a duel, ordered to dance a minuet, negotiate a treaty, perform a ritual of gift exchanges in a foreign land and language

Inside art school note books and sketch pads, in the margins, I see doodles, scribbles, sketches, prose, essays, aspirations, chronicles, valedictory huff and puff, drawings of the 'perfect' eye, boys' names, plans, rescues, defeats. I can see subliminal messages to the future, look what you were, became, are, and how you became you.