I trained to be an x-ray technician. From that time on, as T.S. Eliot wrote in his “Whispers of Immortality,” I have seen “the skull beneath the skin.” T.S. Eliot ends his poem with, “Our lot crawls between dry bones to keep our metaphysics warm.”
In 'Barbara Gone Wild' I explore the interface between passion and the intellect, pulsing tissue and desiccated bone. Our lot may be to crawl through our mortal span but, like the poet, we also sing.