Artist’s Statement

As I remember it, he was sittin me in front of the wood-paneled wall and dingy white pantry door. The rattling attic fan offered little comfort as it struggled to circulate the heavy, moist air of the Florida summer evening. While my mother washed the dishes, I complained of boredom and protested that in my scant ten years worth of summers, I never had the chance to do anything or go anywhere like “everyone else” always did. In response, my stepfather leaned in and told me that it was my lucky night. “Because tonight,” he said, “we’re going to the springs.” I could not believe my good fortune, excited I asked “Really? Really?” A wave of happiness swelled through me as I imagined myself escaping beneath the river’s surface, swimming in the cool, murky water, and reveling in the muffled sounds of submersion. In an instant I was relieved from my present misery—but returned just as abruptly. As a smile crossed his face he added, “Yeah, the bed springs that is.”