This is a wood cut built out of an old book page and a piece of a letter. From time to time we a reminded that our days on earth our numbered. Thankfully we do not know the number unless we are on death row. My mother died very suddenly when I was only 10 years. Death was all of a sudden very real. The good side of all this morbid thought is the way it brings you to the notion of an after life, the big "then what?" Could it be that our life here is a wonderful and painful preparation for an eternal after life? And if it is a preparation, then how is it going? I make drawings in the process of making paintings. The drawings are sometimes lovely but they don't hold a candle to the final painting.