The image of a woman baptizing herself in a common bathtub has been with me for awhile. It’s not a religious reference as much it’s a physical and psychological gesture to end something unwanted and then be allowed to begin again. I like the idea of that the past can be simply rinsed away in a bathtub or diluted in a puddle of water on the kitchen floor; that one can find refuge within the narrow aisle between a bed and chest of drawers; that a chair can become a womb shrinking in anticipating of change. These are images of a certain kind of vulnerability. A vulnerability that begins in the quiet recesses of the mind, momentarily paralyzing the body. A vulnerability that allows growth and regeneration of character. A vulnerability that, in its pregnant belly, bears a new interval in life to be experienced.