My work is an appendage of myself; little arms and legs that belong wholly to me, of which I find difficult to live without. It is a strange thing to put my images outside of myself; for fear that they cannot breathe without me; for fear that they will stop living; for fear that I may stop living. As a mother must watch her children become independent and separate from her, the time has come for me to let go of my work; allowing it to find its own way in the world.