This was a tough drawing to make. When John died I tried to look back on the good things, but what stood out were all the bad things he did to myself and others. For instance during childhood after school he asked me if I wanted to go to Belmont Park, an amusement park in San Diego. On reflection a kind of sleazy place known for sailors, and not really the place for 12 and 16 year olds by themselves.

It was an unbearably exciting offer, so I said "yes" and we set out on dirt road that wound back in the hills behind our house. He said we were meeting a friend that would drive us there. Dropping off the road was 30 foot steep incline of dirt, rocks, and tumble weeds. Before I knew it I was thrown down this ravine, pushed over by my brother. There was no way to stop midway, the incline was too steep. I managed to get my feet out in front of me and rode the hill down to the bottom, arriving as a bloody mess, with cuts and bruises everywhere.

That was the last time I trusted him in anything. Thinking about him gone now is kind of relief, as he can't hurt anyone.

When he died I was in preparation for a symbolic still life exhibition, and I thought it would be fitting to do a still life reflecting about him. It was a scary project, because I didn't know how much rage I would hold against him. And I didn't know if I could handle that intensity.

There is a scene from a very old black white film, Mexican, in which a child, I think a boy, is playing a violin standing on straw mat floating in a lake. There is a whirlpool, and the mat and the boy slowly whirl around and descend in the black hole of water, all the while the boy calmly plays the violin. That image has haunted me, and it came back to me when I conceived of a glass of water, and a Sycamore seed floating in it.

Mount Solidad rises above La Jolla and has a cross at the top of it. In the drawing there is a little glint of light in the upper rim of the glass, and I thought of it as that cross.

The drawing was labor of about 24 hours, every moment of which I thought about my brother. Far from feeling rage against him I felt sadness for a life not well lived.