One day in a poorer section of town, I was standing outside a store waiting for a friend to complete his purchase. There was an old dog tied to a post, looking quite lost and abandoned; as it lay down its eyes never stopped searching for a glimpse of its owner through the store windows. A shabby homeless man came staggering up the sidewalk. The dog looked sadly up at him and, as it sat up, gave a small wag of its tail. Already bent by alcohol and untold tragedies, the man bent over a little further and gently patted the dog, who leaned warmly against his leg. That moment, that small unheralded moment, seemed to contain all of life: all the broken and suffering, as well as all the joy and grace of which we are capable. And it is that moment which is the seed of my art.

(Note: this is the third of my triptych of fallible blogs, the others are here and here.)