When I was five, we left the city of Schenectady to move to a small village. For those precious five years, much of the springtime was spent sitting on the stoop. Once we were in the village it was a porch. Wonderful as well, but just not the same vibe. Now as adults, we have moved back to a city, and my two and a half-year old is enjoying the same pleasures I did as a "tiny giant." P.S., that is her nickname for herself. I have no idea where it came from, but I love it. I digress...that tiny giant has been spending hours sitting on the stoop watching the world travel by in its various forms. Wagons, and yellow taxis, SUV's and bicycles. Two feet and four feet. And all of the variations. Then one day, recently, today in fact, she decided to turn her attention from the street of colourful characters and their methods of transportation to the stoop itself, rough-hewn boards of texture just beckoning to her sidewalk chalk. As she drew "pockets," her other obsession, with the vibrant chalk, I began to study the grain of the wood. 
I fiddled with blues, oranges and pinks, my hand began to trace the grain with the chalk. It became three dimensional in the meditation of the stroke, each bringing out another strata of grain.
So, I photographed the grain sketches with the intention of printing them and sending them out into the world to greet friends that are sorely missed. So I will be, in a sense, sharing my stoop with people in far off places and dreaming of how they are moving about their day, in a taxi on a bicycle, or in a wagon.
