Artist sometimes create from a body of trauma. I can recall when I was about seven years old sitting in my classroom neatly seated in my wooden desk top chair in a private school sheltered from the rest of the world. It was in 1962 before lay teacher were permitted to teach in my elementary school. So, the nuns were the only exposure to adults in authority during my prayerfully days. It was the year that John Glenn Jr. was the first American to orbit the earth. At this time, I was here exploring all the wonders of planet earth for only 7 tender years there was so much more to learn in life with the passing of time lay teachers were beginning to walk the learning halls of my elementary school. So, the way that we young ins knew learning was changing on the winds of the lay teachers’ pregnant bellies and all. Fast forward in 1965 two years later on April 24, 1967 a spacecraft crashed killing Cosmonaut Vladir Komarov. It was so traumatic to see the fire in the sky and evidence of the crash evaporate into thin air up to this point I was really good at coloring in my coloring books, and I was winning spelling bees in the class great strides considering; I had found my own tongue some terrible unexplained speech impediment plagued me, for the first seven years of my fragile life growing up in a home where there was domestic violence between the parents will do that to you. I will never figured out for the life of me why my lay teacher thought that bringing a small 19’ black and white television antenna and all to let me and my classmates perpetually witness this traumatic spacecraft crash as if looking at her confusing baby bump was not enough trauma. On that day I opened up my hand, and right brain and begin drawing wonderful pictures in my tablet. I did not know about the rest of the class but I was looking forward to being able to sleep that night.