Where is Home?

Walking down the Drag in Austin one day, I came upon the house I used to live in, passing by on a flatbed truck, cut neatly in two pieces. I was surprised to see the interior doors I had painted in my nascent expressionist style.

It was a good house for me in my art school days. My guess is that it was built for servants, or maybe slaves, sometime in the 1800’s. There was no kitchen but there was a bathroom with a clawfoot tub. I rented it from…