I found this sketch and journal entry in an old note book. I had been at an artist retreat in Florida where they lent me a bike that looked kind of like this drawing I made of it. I flew around on that bike, as I went for the art studio to the movement studio, back and forth. Grinning from ear to ear as the few belongings I carried with me bounced in the metal basket. A bike. My symbol of freedom. If I could move about the world like this always. With a rubber wheels full of air to soften the ups and downs. Rolling, rolling, over the bumps, speeding and weaving still connected to the earth but with a layer of air and rubber to cushion. That's freedom to me.
