"If painting makes me happy, it’s only because I found my way to it through words; reading books as a kid saved me. Because I loved reading so much—sitting there—disappearing from the screaming anger and fear that surrounded me—I grew up believing I’d be a writer—and my book would help others that were going through the same thing. THAT used to be my only goal… finishing that book. As I was working the low-paying dead-end service jobs, I would tell anyone within ear shot that I was a writer—I’d be published someday, and my book would help people know that they aren’t alone in the darkest fight to find their unhurt self; their infinite reason for being. All my life I have written words because I know how alone so many are; how much we all need encouragement to continue—and it takes such a little amount of encouragement; to continue onward. Anytime an impulse hit me, I would write a note to someone I felt needed kind words…. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the person—if an impulse came—I wrote the note—and I would just set the note so they could find it. It didn’t have to be signed. Most of the time, I didn’t hear back about it; when I did; it was usually a few years later. Then I would be told that the note was saved in a drawer to be looked at when needed; the words had helped them many times. I am saying this now because I will be including words with some paintings, and with any print or painting that I sell, I will be enclosing words that I believe many need to hear sometimes. The person who receives them may not need them, but maybe—the next person who sees them will. Then maybe change will begin to happen, a small opening to find a way to hold on in this world. I believe words were my beginning—and I heard a lot of ugly ones at the start—called to me—at me—and around me--but in this middle—that always remains middle as far as I am concerned—those old words are now the compost I plant beautiful ones in. Beauty always defies; always transcends."