I saw what I had created – painted landscapes, rather bleak, seen through windows, some with bars – and I wasn’t sure what to make of it, so barren, inhospitable, final. I put the piece away, like shutting off the news, the world being too much. Months later, I looked again, then dove in with needle and thread, intertwining the scenes, trying to inject an energetic optimism into the otherwise forlorn wastelands. I am not sure that I have finished.