I had painted some eggplants and they weren't working out. Purples and beiges were on the canvas. What was I to do with them? I mushed them up and started to play with the paint. A process piece emerged. All of a sudden an embryo started to appear. At least, that's what I noticed when stepping back. Even when I try not to think about the possibility that motherhood may pass me by, the sadness of that reality is ever painful—not matter how pretty the picture looks.