I was riding the crest of a wave of bile while making these drawings, with bucket between knees, and pale clammy hands loosely holding pencil. I drew to keep my mind off the nausea, which I would feel begin to creep up my throat with every pause of indecision. Drawing saved me from puking, and nausea saved me from bad drawing. Four hours of dedication to the rhythm and free association ended with a boat rescuing me, the first boat.