Fishbowl Memories

A fond memory of my father surfaced tonight as I walked by a little stack of slides held together with a rubber band.

I took the elastic off them and sat on the couch in my studio to have a look. I remember that trip. I remember him saying we were the worst kids ever and did we want an ice cream? And then he would tell us something. Something it seemed like only he knew. Why beavers chewed trees down, how they unloaded freighters, why the sky was blue.

The phone rang and when I went to answer it, I dropped the slides into this giant fishbowl I have sitting on a stool in the studio - you know ... waiting for an idea.

When I got back ... well ... I had an idea.

Background is silver poster board. Diffused light and one red spotlight.