I have been pre-occupied with sketching a series of homeless people from pictures I find on the net. What a contrast this is from the sketches I make of my daughter. I look at their faces and wonder what their lives were like, what they looked like before life on the street branded itself on their faces.

Their eyes are hauntingly expressive. Some of them silently express a sad and deeply profound wisdom. In some pictures you can see an impish mischieviousness playing about their faces.

Sometimes, insanity.

Even the eyes that stare out vacantly--they speak volumes and volumes...emptiness, hopelessness and desolation. They no longer just live on the streets; they have "become" the streets.

Sometimes I sketch only the eyes because it seems that to sketch more would be too much...the eyes have said it all.

These are the faces that make us uncomfortable. Their existence has become a silent scream we cannot help but feel if we only look. These are the people we see and quickly avert our eyes from because............

Their stories are carved out in their faces like some terrible work of art. And so I sketch them.