New this month:

Large Drawings (to 1992)
Biography
Addition to Iris Murdoch
Addition to Come and Go

1 December 2000

One of the joys of Tom's work is the commentary he offers regarding the creative process. Given that spirit of information, the following comprises details on the creation of this website.

The significant portion of this website has been created on a commuter train between Washington D.C. and Baltimore, Maryland. It's an hour each way, twice a day, five days a week, and I love it. Some commuters play bridge, some read, some sleep. Many study scripture; a few play hand-held electronic poker and blackjack games. Several share the most intimate details of their lives with everyone within ten seats of themselves as they shout into cell phones. (A woman from the Justice Department is convinced her boyfriend wants to sleep with her sister; a club kid says the scene in DC is "So nowhere!"; an international affairs specialist doesn't like his new shoes, and can discuss his displeasure for at least six station stops.) To my knowledge, I'm the only person making a website.

Before I moved here from Boston five years ago, a friend warned, "If you have any intention of working on the commuter train, don't ever speak to anyone. Otherwise you'll be a fourth for bridge, the guy bringing wine of Fridays, and entrenched in the lives of the social group that adopts you." He was right; I see it all around me, and it's wonderful. I love people, and I love seeing relationships evolve. People tend to sit in the same seats, in the same cars, and God help you if you sit in the seat of someone who hasn't yet boarded.

I took my friend's advice; I didn't get recruited into a chatty group. I have several dear friends who know I'll chat on the platform but that I set right to work once I'm on board. Yesterday while working on the pages for Large Drawings (to 1992) a mother and child sat opposite me. The youngster was probably five years old, gregarious, and very interested in my laptop. "Don't bother the man," his mother said, but I was happy to show him the screen. "Look what I see," he said, pointing to Brahms at Bathtime. I must have flushed bright red; the mother was quick to say, "It's art, baby. Like at the museum." He understood, and told me, "You have a musuem in your computer." I said I was lucky, and he agreed. Then he spelled his name so I could have it in my computer too. A-N-T-H-O-N-Y.

All aboard!
JOHN NICK PULL, editor.