As an eight year old, before falling asleep, I had a nighttime fear. Both my hands held the blanket tightly under my chin and I didn't dare move as I imagined myself going downstairs to where my parents were watching t. v. In reality, Dad sat in his large easy chair and Mom on the far end of the couch away from the television - this was the normal routine. But in my day dream, I knew my human parents would not be there. What I would find, if I should really go downstairs, were skeletons sitting where my parents would be.

I believe I knew at a very early age that my parents weren't there for me emotionally. It felt painfully lonely. I suspect I buried my despair because my heart could not tolerate further emotional abandonment. If I expressed my painful feelings, there would be no hugs, no sympathy, no words of encouragement. I would get an oh Wendy, with a sense that I'm making mountains out of a mole hills. I knew my parents weren't there for me, to prove it yet again would be too painful.

As an adult artist, I never consciously set out to express these buried feelings. They simply manifested themselves when I was strong enough to confront the pain, emptiness and anguish.

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