Does everyone have that memory of the perfect summer afternoon, spent playing board games at the cabin with the smell of rain in the air? I'm fascinated by the response these board games (in their bits and pieces) evoke in us as adults. Sure there's the tug of childhood and nostalgia, the innocence of playing a game with clear rules and clear winners. But there is a quality of otherness I experience when I paint a row of dominos, or my favorite monopoly mover, or the last piece of the puzzle. Whenever I look at a flag, or a chessman, or a pile of Scrabble tiles, I know that these are iconic symbols that somehow exist before memory. Somehow, they live in an unconscious dream-realm where they represent something more than the detritus of playtime.