This work was completed during the pandemic. I remember driving to the studio during the early months of the shutdown experiencing this overwhelming feeling of solitude. The roads were deserted, the sidewalks empty. It was so eerily yet beautifully quiet. So much bad shit went down (is still going down)—sickness, death, healthcare workers worked to the bone, lost jobs, lost homes, lost friends and family, lost childhood memories, we’re still reeling from the aftershock. For the sake of the many we all needed to scale back—scale back our work, our spending, our social lives, scale back our selfishness. Collectively and individually it was exhausting. Yet I look back on those early months of the pandemic as utterly peaceful. I’m so grateful that my personal life wasn’t uprooted like so many were. And at times I feel conflicted—moments of guilt wash into my emotional psyche, the next wave is a moment gratitude, the next anger, and then confusion, and acceptance, ad infinitum. Yet it is that inner conflict that is important for me to sit with in solitude without pushing away or dominating those uncomfortable feelings but swimming with them. Because when I ignore those feelings or try to numb them, that’s when I feel isolated and alone. Unplugging from the world and seeking solitude is immensely important. Solitude doesn’t mean that we’re alone. Far from it. We each are only a dinghy—a tiny boat in a vast ocean steadfastly tied to other boats weathering angry storms, witnessing gorgeous sunrises, swimming with the wildlife, sharing the bounty, sharing the hardship. Sharing the moments.