It's autumn, it's brisk, windy, chilly. It's dark and it's not even dinner time. Warmth and comfort, the heat of the steam, creamy hot cocoa going down to your stomache, spreading heat all around your chest to your finger tips. Giving you power restored, no longer so vulnerable to the rugged concrete, no longer a chattering statue, now fresh and agile. These paintings are biographical visual memories, a collection of textures and rhythm I feel of my past as I paint them. I sit at kitchen tables, I walk down dim lit streets.