Starting to get a little wander lust and homesick. Boats out of water are a potent symbol for me. Just tap your toes three times and repeat after me, There is no home like place, There is no home like place, There is no home like place. I wanted the sky to bleed and the trash below to scream beauty. Like so many of my babies, upon completion, I unstretched it and archived it. Twenty-one years later I can still recall the smell of this site. It was a mixture of petroleum spirits, rope, and brine from the bay.