When I think of the present moment, my body is the first thing that makes sense to me.I observe and feel its forms and textures. Only then does existence have any significance or real meaning. To me, the present is white, pure, and fleeting. It latches on to the past before it takes on a different color; a past, that is as archaic and permanent as a Luristan Bronze stag from ancient Iran. Yet the future comes in a variety of colors and forms. My fate could be sealed in the lines of the palm of my hand, or through the choices I freely make. It could be a new iteration of the same stuff that makes the past or could just be a repetition of it. Nevertheless, the future remains mysterious and unknown.