in the foreground individual instruments sounding together immersed in the histories of other times away from the known places what is in their minds so very different every moment important as I wait for him to return ferns in a vase on the dining room table unexpected domesticity in the paintings of the Gold Rush accumulated sketch books tell the story the colors of the Wine Country hillsides the difference that a small amount of blue creates in the already dark green area of the canvas seldom talks about what it was like what to say to each other "Yes, I was there one summer" not sure what to do. It was the fifties afterwards there was never anyone else self portraits of artists as if by making the painting when he said it was the way I looked in a cafe in Berkeley, listening to music