In my “Barbara Gone Wild” series, those atmospheric spaces became increasing bounded by spontaneously drawn shapes. Painted in shades of ochre-tinted white –the color of bone-- the enclosed spaces began to take on shapes that suggested something as intimate and normally hidden as bone; organic shapes that suggest body parts unveiled here and there as though to tease a lover. T.S. Eliot ends his poem with, ”Our lot crawls between dry bones to keep our metaphysics warm.”
