OK, you’ve got a basketball court, an old New York corner of bricked buildings, a small boy leaping to make a basket, and the nebulae of the cosmos peering in, morphing in, perhaps just light-yearing by, as our planet dances through their neighborhood. The ordinary beauty of a childhood, the patina of New York, the un-understandableness of the universe…just seems to me to be the stuff of our days and nights. The red and green of the court against the muted wearings of the brick and the crazy colored chaos of the nebulae are an equation that balances, just barely. This area of visual contradiction is important to me. It describes a state that I cannot use words for but often experience. We are there in the boy jumping up, our bare feet like small wings.