Island-hopping is a pastime.  For a decade and a half I’ve been leaping from boat to shore and viceversa – sometimes missing either, losing passages or tearing skin.  Goats, miniature elephants, or imported tigers have all been climbing on Greek rocks with thicker skin than mine, but their remains and my memories of injury, exhilarated adventure and having to catch your food coexist in a landscape foreign to my natural habitat of river and forest.  Fortified I return to the island for the second happening of residencies.  This time around they begin with a pilgrimage, a magus, pines, windmills, nuns and woodcuts.

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