Escher on Mushrooms

What begins as playful hallucination gradually becomes a meditation on pattern, cognition, porous borders, and the strange machinery through which human beings construct reality.

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The Door I Never Opened

At seventy-seven, an artist finally crosses a threshold he had avoided his entire life, only to discover that what frightened him most was not hallucination, but transcendence itself.

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The Night Voices

By February of 1993, our apartment high above lower Manhattan had finally begun to feel like home. Then, late at night, strangers started entering through the phone lines.

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The Crossing

On New Year’s Day, 1993, I boarded a plane to New York with my daughter in one arm and a strange magazine about the future in the other.

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Regina

She does not remain, and yet never disappears, continuing to move through my life as presence, memory, and something just beyond understanding.

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A Tempest in a Tugboat

What begins in play carries us into something larger, where love feels fully alive and shaped by forces neither of us can yet name.

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