An Abstract Painter Rises from the Ashes

To those close and dear to me, please forgive me for telling you about my fire adventures this way. I am in sad overwhelm. I know you send me light. And yes I know all will be well.

I will skip to the happy ending… No was hurt.

The morning of February 4, 2018, I was in Brooklyn with my beau and suddenly my phone went wild with texts, e-mails, and calls. My neighbor on the north shore of Long Island exclaimed, “Your house is on fire, your house is on fire, come home.”

After a tense, fast drive out of the Big Apple, I arrived to find debris strewn over my property, gaping holes in my house and the overwhelming smell of smoke. The firemen had left already, but the Fire Marshall remained.

The spiritual center of my home is what I call the parlor. I meditate, journal and chill in this cozy room. This room was destroyed.

My studio, the spiritual center of my life, is adjacent to my house in a converted garage.

A work new to your eyes. Alas, it was in the “Fire Room.” “Fuchsia Rising” ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on oval, 20 x 16.” Photo: Peter Schemer

 

Luckily, my neighbor heard the sound of the electrical fire starting, looked to my house and saw fire and smoke pouring out of the side of my house.

The volunteer fire department did a tremendous job of saving much of the house and containing the fire. Oh, do I want to take them all out for dinner and give them heartfelt thanks!

Walking through where my front door used to be, the Fire Marshal took me inside to view the damage. That is when I lost it. I saw two of my paintings in the water, in the debris on the floor.

I started sobbing. It was if one of my body parts had been wrenched from me in the fire.

When I could talk I asked the Fire Marshal to remove the paintings and we set them in a safe place to dry.

I believed my life’s work… all my paintings since I started painting in 1994 would have to be destroyed.

Ironically, “Water Duet” was in the water on the floor of the Parlor, the room that caught on fire. ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on 12” circle forms. Photo: Peter Scheer.

 

The sense of loss seemed unbearable. I could not fathom that all was lost.

New works not even seen by you… I would have to destroy.

Treasured old friends from my early years of painting…gone. Paintings already earmarked for upcoming shows…gone.

After many tears, getting my house boarded up and trying to make phone calls in a daze, I had an epiphany. I am an artist, I said to myself, creation is what I do…I will create anew.

Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, I will paint from the ashes.

The next day in my studio with no heat, lights or water, which meant no toilet… I put out a new convex oval canvas.

FireLight the start of a series was birthed. ©2018 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on convex oval canvas, 24 x 36”.

So what’s the story?

I am safe and sound in a hotel for now.

The structural damage was contained to a small section of the house. Smoke and ash, however, traveled.

An art conservator will be assessing my paintings to see how we can restore them. My paintings will be taking a journey to a NYC lab for diagnostic work. Then a plan will be formulated.

Dare I hope that perhaps even the works in the site of the fire can be re-born?

Words such as cost effective, sales history and price structure that speak to the commerce of art have been spoken. At the moment I am fighting to remain optimistic.

I have been overwhelmed in the best way with all the love and light that has poured into me from near and afar.

Long-term, oh, I can’t think that far, but a few things I know. I will be having a kick butt party when my studio and home are restored.

Are you local to the north shore of Long Island, local-ish or happy to travel for a grand party? Drop me a line and I will add you to the guest list. This makes me happy to start a plan for a party.

Most importantly, I will be having a fire sale!

This loss has compelled me to move my art into the world with great vigor. Once I am certain any paintings you might purchase are in pristine shape, they will go back out into the world looking for new homes.

You will be the first to know about my fire sale.

You will be the first to see my new series FireLight.

You are the first to hear this “public” announcement of my transition from the ashes.

The Light is Cleaner in Maine

I ate lobster every day (ok yes, sometimes twice a day… lobster scrambled eggs anyone?) And I painted every day. ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, Photo: Artist

Maine has claimed my artist’s eye. This summer and fall I traveled to Bailey Island, Maine. For a NYC raised gal, this small remote island felt like I had traveled to the end of the earth.

Staying in a small cottage right on the edge of the shore, I woke to the motoring of the lobster boats and wild turkeys calling.

I spent my time marveling at the landscape and feeling welcomed by a kindred mother earth spirit.

I too had the persistence and courage to weather harsh elements. I too was the carved out coastline… ever changing, but ever strong.

Despite my great skill in overpacking, I did have the limits of what I could fit into my secret admirer’s car. Lucky for me, he has skills in underpacking. No easel would fit easily but I did not mind, as I usually paint with the canvas placed horizontally on sawhorses outside.

This fall when we arrived, an easel was sitting on the deck of the tiny cottage nestled on the shore!

Thank you unknown fellow artist for forgetting your easel.

Setting up outside started with some paint accidents as the wind kept blowing my easel over with paint flying. So my beau secured the easel with gaffer tape and a giant rock. And as he knows to do, leave me alone with my paints… to be in the glorious solitude of creation.

Actually, for a few days I was so enthralled with the landscape that this abstract artist declared she was going to try her hand at painting realistically. I would conquer and paint the Maine coast. I actually picked up a paintbrush and palette knives, something I have not done in years since I paint with my hands.

I failed quite miserably over and over. I ended up banging on the canvas in frustration with my paint filled hands at my inability to capture the beauty in front of me.
©2017 Alicia R Peterson, Photo: Artist.

 

This struggle had a happy ending as I had a talk with myself.

“Alicia get a grip. Why are you trying to make yourself into a type of painter that does not exist in your soul?” Return to your calling of abstraction.

So indeed using brush and palette knife, I abstracted Maine.
©2017, Alicia R Peterson, Photo: Artist.

 

I will be returning to this place that calls to me so deeply and it remains in my artist’s third eye. The memories and experiences shape my current studio practice.

Indeed, talking to my mentor, Stan Brodsky, about my passion for this location, he told me:

“Yes. The Light is Cleaner in Maine.”

Expansion of Blue, ©2017, Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 30 x 40.” Photo: Peter Scheer. $3000
A work from my Water Series.

 

Where Do You Find Light? Comment Below…

 

An Abstract Painter Searches for Space

Kaleidoscopic, ©2017, Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 30 x 40 inches. $3000
Photo: Peter Scheer

It feels like I have been searching for space all my life.
 
My personal space bubble, my comfort zone is probably different than yours. I don’t like folks who creep up to me in lines as if getting closer to me makes the line move faster. Oh, that gets my hackles up so be warned, you might find my elbow protruding into our shared space.
 
 I also have trouble finding space in conversations. I can interrupt you, as I am so eager to add my comments. Or I wait for an opening and I just can’t find it. So, there may be minor sulking, as I don’t get to tell you my words.
 
 Like in jump rope, if you don’t get your rhythm right, you can’t jump in. I often feel tangled in conversation despite my strong force to connect with others.

Oval Opening, ©2017, Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on oval form, 16 x 20 inches. $500
Photo: Peter Scheer

I crave solitude. I need solitude and if I don’t have enough solitude crankiness can set it. I know that solitude; space alone is one of my wells; how I fill my creative fires and how I find peace.
 
 So I guess I should not be surprised that my search for space has consumed my life as a painter.
 
 Recently during an impromptu critique of my paintings from an oh so seasoned painter and teacher, I was asked why I leave so much white space in my paintings.
 
 What artists usually do is to prime a canvas with a ground, a background… a neutral color or perhaps a strong color to contrast what will be the figure (what is the subject of the painting).
 
 In answering the query of filled and empty, I realized my work is about expansion.

Winter Circle, ©2017, Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on 12-inch circle form. $350
Photo: Peter Scheer

How did I find space on canvas? In 2006 I started painting empty. I fell in love with the canvas itself being the ground and started right into the main event.
 
 What emerged were stark works of empty. I was entranced, and challenging myself, how empty can I paint and still create a compelling painting?
 
 I paint the power of less.

Circle of Life I and II, © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on 10 and 12-inch circle forms. Duet: $600
Photo: Peter Scheer

This search is visible in my studio practice. When I throw paint the process echoes my internal story. I am searching for space. So, of course, my lines extend off the canvas and beyond.
 
 In fact, I sling paint with such ferocity that anyone or anything in its path gets colorized…. this includes the walkway to my studio, all my painting clothes/shoes and most all of my studio surfaces.
 
 And just an FYI, the shoes and clothes of those who dare try to take pictures of me while I am painting have paint splatter. I am a martial artist so I have a grand arm.
 
 I create space on my canvas and I share it with you.
 
 How do you find space? Comment below…

Fertile Crone, ©2017, Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 24 x 18 inches. $900
Photo: Peter Scheer

I usually don’t put words about what I see and know in a painting. I wish you to find your own images within. This painting I could not help myself. It feels like me. I guess that makes me a fertile crone. Happy me to give birth to my paintings.

 

Painting Shadow

This painting first emerged at “The Art of the Figure,” curated by Philip Pearlstein, Gallery North, East Setauket, NY. This is my only painting where I have turned down offers of purchase. Shadow, © 2009 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on canvas, 18 x 36” Photo: Christina Bohn.

When I first started painting in 1994, my work was filled with shadow. As an abstract artist, shadow is the journey inward, sometimes to places we think we don’t want to see. Shadow is the story that rattles around inside waiting to be told, and in the telling of the story, we find beauty in the shadow.

I have had a love/hate relationship with my shadow painting since my first one.

Shadow is the midnight sky with a new moon. Midnight, © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on 10” circle form. Photo: Peter Scheer. This painting has been submitted to a December show at the Long Island Museum.

Early in my life as an artist, I was sorting through paintings with my BFF since fourth grade, Kelly. I kept on picking up pieces that I considered dark and filled with shadow and exclaiming dejectedly, “No one will want to hang this painting in their living room!”

Kelly would patiently reply, “I see your emotions run strongly with this work, but to me, it’s just a painting and it’s a painting I would want to hang in my living room. I see beauty. I see mystery. I find fascination.”

What I heard was, “I see light in your shadows.”

Purple LifeBlood, One of Three LifeBloods, ©2016 Alicia R Peterson Acrylic on linen, 30 x 24 inches. Photo: Peter Scheer $1,300

Words to live by and yet I still struggle. I know some of my best paintings are my shadow work. So I am endeavoring to embrace my shadow both in my studio and in my life.

Stay tuned for more creations. I have my biggest sized canvas yet beckoning me into my studio in all its empty glory.

Are you friends with your shadow? Let us hear from you. Comment below.

An Abstract Artist Discovers the Power of 'Yes, And'

“Yes, and” is the foundation of improvisation…A cooperative venture in creation. You receive the offer of your partner and add to it.

Orange Delta, ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 40 x 30 inches, $3500.
Photo: Peter Scheer

If you and I were doing a scene together, or better yet let’s pretend it’s real life…it would go like this.

Me: “I know we are supposed to go to work this morning, but let’s go join the circus.”

By improv rules, you can’t go, “Are you crazy? No, I don’t want to join the circus!” You have to “Yes, and” me. Accept my offer of joining the circus and enhance it.

You: “Oh Alicia, I would love to join the circus today. I don’t want to go to work anyway. And maybe you can be a paint thrower in the circus.”

Well, you get the picture.

So what does improvisation have to do with painting?

Everything!

My process is one of spontaneity with constant flow (“Yes, and”) into any avenue of paint that happens. The color orange got muddy because I over painted; ok, then I will go with mud color for this work. That line is not moving; ok, it’s now not a line, and let it be still. The space in the painting feels constrained; yes, now this painting is about restrictions and breaking free.

BioEssence, ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 10 x 20 inches, $650. Photo: Peter Scheer.

Sometimes my painting finale is grand; sometimes it’s a flop.

But there is nothing more energizing than “Yes, anding” painting and life. And yes, I do “No… but.” And yes, I am trying to “Yes, and” when I say No.

Want to jump into the “Yes, and” pool?

I study with Jude Treder-Wolff at Lifestage in Long Island and NYC. I have also been brave and gone to drop in classes at the PIT (Peoples Improv Theatre).

I hope to see you on stage (ok, classroom stage).

Want to hear more on “Yes, and”?

 Tell us your stories of “Yes, and” below.

The Painting with a Mind of its Own

So what happened to that painting created in the shadow of the full moon while I painted, danced and tore a tendon?

Missed the story of how this painting came to be? Click here

This is the painting that fateful night in April 2017.

This is the painting once it dried.

This is the painting after numerous frustrating attempts to find the light hidden in the dull sheen.


Above Images: ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, Detail from acrylic on linen, in process Photo: Artist.

Here is the core wisdom learned from the perils of painting: Sometimes glory is lost and can’t be found the same way.

But, Glory can always be found if We Keep Showing Up and Listening.

Yes, I am still showing up for this painting, but I will put it away for a while. Perhaps it needs a long percolation time. Perhaps I need to let it be and embrace the dull sheen and see where that takes me. I have a small collection of paintings with minds of their own; perhaps we will reach an accord sometime in the future.

Expansion © 2016, Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 36 x 24.” $1,600 Photo: Peter Scheer

Tell us stories of your version of a painting with a mind of its own. Comment below.

Dancing Naked under the Full Moon an Abstract Painter Destroys a Painting, Tears a Tendon and Finds Wisdom

Bronze-River. ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 10 x 30.” $650. Photo: Peter Scheer

So where is the wisdom in challenge? What have I learned? How will this affect my painting process?  

1. I have skills in ignoring what my body is trying to tell me.  This can lead to major ouchies such as when I tore my tibial tendon dancing and painting under the full moon.  Click here to read the story. 

2. Pain takes me to a bad place.

3. I need better ways to deal with pain as I walk my joyous journeys. Life is ebb and flow. I flow in my painting, but oh, I struggle with the flow sometimes in my life. 

4. I am building skills in mindfulness.  And yes, I am learning to sit still for long periods of time (oh this is hard for me).

5. I can get very cranky. Some of you have experienced my crank. I apologize again.

6. The world really does not end if I don’t get all my art business (or anything) done. 

7. I can create sitting down.  A position I have rarely used in my 24 years of painting.

8. Watercolors are now my new best friend. It’s a pleasure to pick up a paintbrush after nearly 15 years of painting with my hands and gravity. It feels rather strange.

9. I don’t want to paint on canvas or linen anymore. I want to create on something else.  I am not sure what but I want it to be organic, something I don’t buy.

And oh, about that painting created and destroyed on the fateful day. Stay tuned; it is in the process of re-birth.  

And yes, you bet I am painting on the day of the solar eclipse. 

I am gleeful as I jump into the abyss of creation. Kiss the Wind ©2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, 40 x 30.” Private Collection.  Photo: Peter Scheer.

 What pearls of wisdom have you earned through your challenges? Let us hear from you. Post a comment below!

The perils of painting

As an abstract painter the moon calls to me. I revel in its luminosity and shadow.

Exo-Planet, ©2107, Alicia R Peterson. Acrylic on 10” circle form, $300. Photo: Peter Scheer.

Exo-Planet, ©2107, Alicia R Peterson. Acrylic on 10” circle form, $300. Photo: Peter Scheer.

 

April 11, 2017 was a particularly big full moon for me. I had been painting inside my head for days in preparation. Canvas in my studio beckoned, colors whispered.

Well, here’s the side story. Some of my earliest school memories are about being teased because of my thick glasses and orthopedic shoes. I have remarkably flat feet and often they are unhappy with me.

The day of this full moon, had been a particularly ouchie foot time. As I sometimes do (okay, way too often), I ignored my body and declared that I was going to walk through the pain. Painting into the wee hours under the full moon was not something I was going to miss.

Outside my bamboo forest, I danced naked and barefoot under the full moon.

Truth be told, no I was not naked. It just makes the story oh so much better. Yes, I did dance. I dance all the time as part of my painting process.

I felt the tides rise inside me. I stilled and felt Mother Earth and Father Sky inside me. Paint poured out of me and in moments of deep ecstasy, light and shadow danced on my canvas.

I birthed the universe onto my canvas.

Detail of the painting drying in my studio. To my great dismay as it dried it dulled. This has never happened to me before. I will be investigating why. It may have been the cold and damp or the layers of shadow that I applied. A hurt foot and a painting that morphed into something I don't like. Drats! © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, work in process. Photo: Artist

Detail of the painting drying in my studio. To my great dismay as it dried it dulled. This has never happened to me before. I will be investigating why. It may have been the cold and damp or the layers of shadow that I applied. A hurt foot and a painting that morphed into something I don’t like. Drats!
© 2017 Alicia R Peterson, acrylic on linen, work in process. Photo: Artist

 

I woke up early that morning in excruciating pain. Unable to walk down the stairs, I butt slid down the stairs so I could eat something before taking an anti-inflammatory.

Well, cut to the chase, I have a torn tibial tendon in my right foot. I am spending weeks in a cast/ non-weight bearing.

Oh no! I have to depend on someone else for almost everything. I don’t have skills in asking for help.

Luckily, my secret admirer came to my rescue. I am oh so supported with love, humor and damn fine cooking. I am staying with him in Brooklyn, so the cityscape will enter my paintings when I can return to my north shore of Long Island studio.

I am sketching up a storm however. I always paint standing up but now I have to sit. How will this impact my work? And I have to be neat!

Yay, I am setting up a mini studio in the kitchen. I will be exploring watercolors. I had to promise not to throw paint. Yes, I am sulking.

Me on my scooter. I am indeed a menace but luckily I have a bell to warn people of my wobbly scooting. © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, Photo: Artist

Me on my scooter. I am indeed a menace but luckily I have a bell to warn people of my wobbly scooting. © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, Photo: Artist

This May full moon, my dear art pal, Sam Woolcott, warned I best stick to howlin’ this time round.

Sam’s paintings stir me and her courage in her work moves me. She kicks and soothes my butt as my accountability partner. We hold flames; well ice for me, to each other’s feet in our journeys as artist entrepreneurs.

As I rebuild, I may be able to dance in my sneakers and my trusty orthotics under the full moon; just no more barefoot naked dancing.

Mars, ©2017 Alicia R Peterson. Acrylic on 12” circle form, $350. Photo: Peter Scheer.

Mars, ©2017 Alicia R Peterson. Acrylic on 12” circle form, $350. Photo: Peter Scheer.

However, I remain steadfast in painting our inner stories.

Share your stories. Do you want to dance under the full moon? Have you ignored your body and then been very very sorry?

I feel like my insides are showing

We filmed me painting outside but inside my studio, I speak to you. Evidently, I talk with my hands, so I was directed to keep still. Oh, that was hard for me. ©2017 Alicia R Peterson. Photo: Artist

We filmed me painting outside but inside my studio, I speak to you. Evidently, I talk with my hands, so I was directed to keep still. Oh, that was hard for me. ©2017 Alicia R Peterson. Photo: Artist

Today is the day! It is a brisk 29 degrees in the north shore of Long Island. My bamboo forest is swaying with the strong winds… and drats, there is no snow in the forecast. I do so love to paint in the snow.

But no matter, true to my form, I just must paint outside so we just must film outside.

I have not slept except in fits and starts in what feels like too long but I am humming with excitement and energy. I am further fueled by my favorite comfort food, a BLT on gluten-free bread cooked to perfection by my secret admirer. Somehow this cultural Jew from NYC has a thing for bacon. Today will be my public painting debut. Dare I hope there will be no painting disasters? Yes, I have had my share of creating work that looks vile. But please not on camera!

Caption: Stop staring at me, I wanted to say. ©2107 Alicia R Peterson. Photo: Artist.

Stop staring at me, I wanted to say. ©2107 Alicia R Peterson. Photo: Artist.

I have declared first to myself and then to my trusted videographer, Peter Scheer, that I am finally ready to let you in on my painting process. Well, at least a glimpse. This scares me to pieces. What will you see? What will you think? Will you “get” my process?

And loudest of all is the old brain tape of “stay small, stay quiet, and stay safe.” With all my might, I am re-wiring that message of old and stepping into the grandeur of self.

I have denied myself painting for 10 days!

I have a daily and often nightly studio practice, so 10 days feels like an eternity for me. Yes, I cheated and sketched but no paint touched my hands! Somehow I think if I am starved to paint, glory will more easily pour out of me.

I meditate and ground. I feel the wind blowing, bringing me to a place of flow. The camera in my face and the two men staring at me fade… Nothing exists but line, color and space.

Share your stories of living loud below.

'Wasband,' Abstract Art and Punctuating Out of the Box

I have always been Alicia R Peterson. It never made sense to me that I would assume another’s name if I married. So, I did not. Yay, I did not have to change back when I divorced. Excuse the diversion. But it’s a story with a happy ending.

“Wasband” my gift to the world.

(Actually, it was a friend who gifted this to me… as a divorced friend had gifted it to her.)

This is the perfect word for the men in our lives who now are not our husbands. It’s an acknowledgement of a past life.

I don’t have a word for ex-wife. Sorry guys. “Waswife” does not work. Please think on it and get back to us. You need one too.

Me (Alicia R Peterson) in my North Shore of Long Island, N.Y. Studio. The paintings on the top shelf are in the contemplating state. Is this work finished? Does it have more to say? How do I change it without destroying the glory that it already has? This process is one I have honed over 23 years of abstraction. I have ruined my share of paintings. It can be a lengthy process; the longest to date is three years in completing a painting. © 2017 Alicia R Peterson. Photo: Artist

Me (Alicia R Peterson) in my North Shore of Long Island, N.Y. Studio. The paintings on the top shelf are in the contemplating state. Is this work finished? Does it have more to say? How do I change it without destroying the glory that it already has? This process is one I have honed over 23 years of abstraction. I have ruined my share of paintings. It can be a lengthy process; the longest to date is three years in completing a painting. © 2017 Alicia R Peterson. Photo: Artist

As a Doctor of Audiology, I always used my middle initial and was gleeful in the many opportunities to see my name up in lights. My first business card, my diplomas, and my first nameplate on the door to an Audiology practice.

When I was called to paint in 1994, I signed my first work and then promptly refused to sign paintings for several years.

It was a long journey to own my creation.

When I finally stepped into myself and started to sign my paintings, I stopped putting the period after the R. The period changed the flow of the signature and jarred my eyes so I left it out.

But back to the name at hand. In 2013, I jumped off the cliff of certainty. Just divorced after 32 years, I was in a life of extreme re-vision. I quit my day job as Doctor of Audiology as I was certain that I must transition into what has become my life’s work…. artist entrepreneur.

But I was oh-so wobbly on my feet!

What do you do when it snows in March? You paint the solace of the snow. © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, work in progress, 18 x 24,” acrylic on canvas. Photo: Artist

What do you do when it snows in March? You paint the solace of the snow. © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, work in progress, 18 x 24,” acrylic on canvas. Photo: Artist

Looking for anchors, I began taking business classes. I met Alyson Stanfield, AKA Art Biz Coach, virtually on the Internet and have been soaring with her ever since.

In Alyson’s Art Biz Lift Off class, she discussed branding and it became clear that yes, again I could claim my name: Alicia R Peterson.

But I declared no period after the R!

Since I signed my paintings without the period, it made sense to me to brand myself that way. I just don’t like the punctuation mark after the R!

So, four years later, I am tired of politely telling editors, shows, curators, etc., “Please take out the period.”

Inevitably, it would re-appear.

Then recently I felt a sinking feeling as a colleague respectfully listened to my too long story of why I punctuate out of the box. I then realized (FINALLY) that the better visual flow of punctuating made me seem unprofessional. Without knowing the backstory on punctuation, it would look like a mistake.

Version 2

March snow painting. Oh, there was evolution as I continued to work on the painting as it dried. I did not use a medium to flow the paint. I used Mother Nature; the surface was covered in snow. It was an awesome experience! © 2017 Alicia R Peterson, work in progress. Photo: Artist

So here I am, do I renege? Give up my ban on periods after an initial? Was this a battle worth fighting?

And now how do I appear? Like I can’t make up my mind? Like I don’t know how to punctuate?

Well, that does not look good! Oy Vey!

I am thinking this is punctuation that I must embrace. Not on my paintings…you will always see the flow of my signature but perhaps I need to stay in this box. That makes me a little cranky.

I remind myself that “mistakes,” may we call them “off the beaten path moments,” are a life long journey. Sometimes, out of the box works, sometimes it doesn’t.

But getting out of the box is always a worthy endeavor.

Shout out your opinions on the R. and share your stories of out of the box experiences. And what is the equivalent of Wasband?