In 1989, I drove my Tacoma truck to Arizona to visit my cousin Mike, who had created a sculptural complex in the desert near Sedona. Mike and I had hung out together as kids; he was a year younger, and we looked a lot alike. He was an artist from early on. We’d each gone off with our different lives, then got together in the mid-60s when we were both feeling the stirrings of the cultural revolution, and this was the first time I’d seen him since then.
He created the room shown here out of used automobile windshields, with stained glass glued on with silicone caulk.