Lee Henderson  was born and raised on the Canadian prairies, and remain convinced that there's no better place to contemplate nothingness. When the landscape is just a single horizontal slash between blue and yellow, absence is a constant comfort; when the wind is cold enough to make you need other people on a mortal level, that absence becomes a terror realized. (Isn't it curious how place shapes us?) My earliest recollection is of falling through a garage roof when I was two years old, and I can still distinctly recall the pink fibreglass that I had thought was solid but which failed to support my weight. However, on returning to that garage decades later, I found that the insulation was and had always been yellow, and covered in black tar-paper anyway. (Isn't it curious how memory betrays us?) I am represented by Zalucky, Toronto.