I have an idea for a project: the world without me.

At first I dismissed the idea as too gloomy, too 'difficult'. But like all ideas that engage me, countless paths from it continue to flood my mind. The world without me is something I deny and yet, I am but a prick of light in the darkness of a single night. I sense how four words compel art and contemplation.

The nature of a nascent idea is that it finds its shape, slowly, persistently, unconsciously, mysteriously.

Humans are the only known species that make and use objects to inflict bodily harm. They are alone in killing others and their own in such great numbers: for food, territory, greed, desire, revenge, high emotion, hopelessness, blind faith, and hate. Some believe that to defend themselves they must own and be prepared to use a weapon, to kill. To end a life. To kill again. This is the cycle of our violence.

Be courageous, be more than fear. Lay down your arms, be loved.

The sky is clear. The moon, bright. The air, still.

I breathe the cold crisp quiet before the dawn. I marvel at its beauty, the earth, my home. I fill with wonder. I stay no more than five small minutes, then start my work.

Ideas, principles, reason may persuade me, but it is the strength of my feelings that move me to make.

The rich, energetic, unbridled, elaborate experience of emotion is the pulse to my creative life.