Learning began at birth, but some experiences and teachers have marked me more deeply:

My teachers of Spanish. They brought me to a fluency that can rust but never crumbles. They opened to me new understanding of the Americas, and the world.

My teachers of art. The elders and seekers who created with me from basements and public schools to Rhode Island School of Design in Providence and Rome, and the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

A map-maker, who guided me through the forest of my childhood and gave me the gift of cartography so that I am never lost.

The seventh son of a seventh son. He taught me the skills to spin the words that tangled in my hands, and gave me the first key to the locked doors.

My fairy god-mother, who asked the magic question: "But where do you want to go?"

A beacon, who saw me so clearly I could finally see myself.

And Jim, who walks Life with me daily and laughs often.

I discovered young that Life walks unexpected turns. I learned too that expectations weren't really worth all the time and energy that went into them, because Life generally disregarded them, sometimes with a shrug, sometimes a sneer, and most often a raucous cheery laughter that rolled out across the floor.

My battle with expectationalism has been a rewarding experience, an incredible teacher, and a constant inspiration. Life's walking is an amazing joyride. The walking has taken me across continents and language barriers, through democracies and dictatorships, among the privileged and the poor. Life has walked all over my expectations.

The diversity of my art reflects the diversity of the walking. Some have likened its body to a multiple personality but the thoughts communicated in paint and line are all from the same Life. They are joined by the two feet that walk them.