I drive between the bay area, where I currently live, and my hometown of Portland, Oregon. This has been going on for years for work, school and family. Now the journey seems perpetual, the visit home an oxymoron. It became a ritual to mark the journey of the ten-and-one-half hour drive by taking snapshots from the road and painting them. There are the usual vistas to document along the route -- Mt. Shasta and Black Butte -- and the more personal stops for gas and food. And yet, those do not seem as remarkable as the subtle spots in the landscape between start and finish, origin and destination, my two homes: the change from pavement to dense Douglas Firs; opening up onto the high prairie near the border; the light reflected from the bay on the Oakland streets. I take in these sights quickly before the car passes and my lens can frame or focus. Each painting feels like an homage to the journey and the waiting to get there. The journey continues and so the cycle of departing and arriving.