We all have childhood maps filled with imprecision. Mine charted land “out in the sticks” of North Carolina, where “a little past here” and “down the hill from there” were all we really needed. And like Costa Rican mail, most of the time we found our way. Painting is not so different. Sometimes I find my way and sometimes I get lost. But one could do worse than be lost in a pathless wood. Part of me has always welcomed it. Only then can exploration and adventure lead back to that old flickering porch light of home.