Made it through teen years. Exhausted and spent by 19. Covered a lot of ground. Laurel Canyon at 15 in the sixties. Saw and did a lot. Art became the only ledge to hang on to. Nothing made sense or had any substance. Capturing images that flew out. Shaking and frantic, no thoughts or ideas, the pen would be the way to hold on to another minute.

Through the blanket of time, images came out. 100's of drawings, never predetermined, never thought out, always people. People seen in the streets caught from the corner of an eye. People who also wondered if the world was real or a passing shadow.

Worlds upon worlds moving together where time disappears and motion, shapes and forms take their place. Time travel, ancient people roving, wandering, staying in the safety of shadows.

Just when you come up for air, another wave, another thought, another notion. Humans wrapping ourselves in clothing and metal fend off fear of speeding through darkness, racing through space, silent and roaring. Flesh and bones, packed inside shells that move and think but sleep walk in time. Stand naked, stand alone in the silence of reality. Walls melt, time goes backward, winds blow invisible. Hot and cold, we shiver and sweat. Eyes watching and waiting, knowing a private personal death is inevitable.

Time ticks by, every second never comes again. Suspended in this motion thinking that next moment will bring relief. Staring, watching, always cautious.

Colors, figures, perspective? not sure beyond the words. Never studied, never practiced, just drew. For decades, these sheets sat quietly under beds, in cases, in closets. Never to show, never to risk revealing, they trusted to be kept secret. Promises that they would be safe. So they kept coming, image upon image, never pre thought or calculated. Shapes and forms appear, the pen hurrying to stay with them, tracing what was already on the paper.

At times, taking out the pages, trying to remember when and where they were created. Gazing at them never having seen them before, always alone and vowing to protect them from the glare of scorning eyes. Once in a while, a trusted friend would see and always remark, "you should show these, these need to be in a gallery"..no, the time was not right.

Of late, the images themselves have announced that they want to be seen. "It is ok, we are ready". As always honoring their requests, the images are uncovered. They travel through 40 years of time.

Peter D LoPresti