Early this morning we learned that a friend of ours, one who had struggled with alcoholism for many years and had tried with all his heart to stop drinking, died at home in his bed sometime early yesterday after having taken a cab to a grocery store the previous night so that he could buy some vodka and find some peace. He is not the first friend that I have lost as the result of alcoholism and won't be the last. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling out of sorts. I went down to Bellingham to look out at the water, not knowing that our friend had died. We are both fragile and indestructible, and the earth and the sky and the water share that with us.
("Talking About What Is Not Broken," gouache and watercolor, 1989, by am. The paintings go side by side, but I was unable to figure out how to place them that way.)