I could not sleep the other night. Relentless voices I did not recognize spoke to me of past terrors and future prophecies. "You, the living, must tell our story. You, the artist, must paint our grief. You, the writer, must pen this warning. Do not fail us we beseech you. Do your duty as we have done ours". I could not rest, so persistent were these tortured laments. Like some ancient oracle crying out from some long ago forgotten grave. "Why me?" I thought. "Leave me be, let me rest. Leave me alone. I want no part of this. This is not what I wish to do". "Neither did we" came the reply. "But duty called and we answered and gave our lives. Now it's your turn to execute this task to tell the living of our stories and warn them. Warn them of future graves not yet dug. Do not let us die in vain. We implore you. Do your duty". These dispatches from bloodied trenches would not cease until I did my part. These unyielding plaintive cries would not let me rest until my mission was completed. Like some unwilling reluctant volunteer I began to fulfill this ghostly request to use my hands and my mind, the hands and the mind of the living to accomplish for the dead what they were unable to do while alive. I recalled the words of the Bhagavad Gita and how Arjuna obeyed and fulfilled his mission, a mission which he wished not to do. It was Karma. And this Karma was mine. I could not escape it. No matter how hard I tried this clarion call would not stop until I completed my mission. So this painting is me, "reporting for duty, Sir". An artist soldier whose weapons are paints and brushes, words and paper. "Mission accomplished. I proclaimed. May I be relieved". I leave it to you, the viewer, whether or not I have done my duty and if I can take my leave and return home. My part in this Karmic adventure is so small a price to pay compared to those whose sacrifice was so great. I hope that I have done my duty. visionary imagist "Joey"