Standing on red stilts, the picture seen in the eye of the mind comes to life. The flatness of paint rendered into a solid structure. A stand-in for the body of the page, painted wooden stilts rise from a floor, now turned into a picture plane. A painting in high-rise, sheets of clear plastic held together in wooden frames, looking through their own windows into the face of the other. An illumined light brings them forth, priming the surface with the dazzle when owes to the luminosity of white paint. An excavation that zooms the body that moves into the picture itself. Standing up, standing with upturned hands, palms facing forward, submitting to the structure beholding one’s self. She speaks to me, and she speaks to me again; I am somehow moving here, permeating within her picture. Strategies of movement, strategies of control, articulation is the product of a desire to move those that behold. Why say anything? Why say anything at all? Perhaps I say because I want you to know, perhaps I say because I want you to see.