As time goes so does our reasons for doing what we did in the past. Our extraordinary ability to reconstruct the past, giving to it purpose and deeper meaning then the actual event is a gift. I’ve been looking at bunch of paintings that I did and am wondering why I did them? What was I thinking about? I honestly don’t remember and believe that the reasons I had at that time makes no difference as to whether or not they should be destroyed or honored. I don’t know who makes that decision.
I was in DC in 1963. Sadly, I don’t remember my motive in going and was shocked to find out that I was a part of history. I remember getting lost and finding myself looking out and seeing thousands of people before turning around to see that I was standing just below Dr. King as he spoke. I for certain did not understand the importance of that moment at that time. I don’t think anybody did.