When I was a college kid I had an awesome existence (that continues to this day – not boasting, just remarking on how lucky I am). Back then I lived with my Mom. We enjoyed each other’s company and had mutual friends. She gave me so much rope with my lifestyle that I got into climbing (dumb joke). She was my psychotherapist – every morning as we drove together to the RIT campus I would whine and she would soothe. I kept college hours at night. One night, stoked by pots of coffee, I made a painting. It is lost to art history now, and this Polaroid is the only evidence that it wasn’t a dream. As you can see, of course, it was a priceless masterpiece.
SX-70 Print, ca 1978. The only worldly proof that this was not a dream.
