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Stories I Tell Myself 

     For many years and through multiple moves I lugged a few tubs full of journals around with me that I had started in 1979 and wrote until the early 90's. Every so often I would take them out with the intend of throwing them away but instead would sit on the floor and read a few, put them back in the tub, and shove the tub back under the bed. This time, I started tearing them up and making collages.  

     My motivation was directed not by revealing words, but obscuring them. I developed patterns from the random torn shapes and the direction for the script. Add to that the contrast of doodles and sketches.

     You can't read them. Yet I have noticed that never have people looked so closely and intently in my other work. They really try to read them!  It must be the natural voyeur in people.  Sometimes, I think they are too personal. 

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