We asked an Ibo friend who was making a trip home to bring us back something authentically Nigerian. He returned with a Yoruba mask from a manhood ritual. It is a demon mask wearing a pith helmet, the universally recognized headgear of the European colonizing powers in Africa. The gift was received just prior to the wars when I was trying to persuade my son to leave the Air Force. I used the mask to make my point, but my son went to Kyrgystan anyway. I asked my Nigerian buddy whether it bothered him the way Western and Northern powers had eclipsed and deformed the growth of modern Africa. He smiled broadly and said everyone would get their turn, that Africa had drawn first in the civilization pool and so had longer to wait for their turn to come around again. This image of a woman of color standing naked in a wind-swept field struck me immediately. It was obtained from the internet and was in color, unlike most of the original images of the Blue Art transformation series. After executing a copy of this in oils on a small square rotated into a diamond format I felt the truncated figure to be incomplete, and affixed it in the center of another gessoboard, then approached the combined with several new layers of marks to unify the whole. I found the result of this better, but still wanting. On a walking tour of the large weekend flea market at the Ashby BART station in Berkeley, I was fortunate to find the African carved comb with its broken feature echoing the incomplete form of the model. A suitably grunge-like answer for a shadow-box display was provided by the remains of a crate that carried a New Mexico painting from Chicago artist Bruce Thorn into our collection. I finished the box with acrylics designed to tie in with the painting of the figure in the field. Just as these elements came together, my wife found a cheap leather bracelet in the pocket of a new pair of pants for sale in a clothing shop, evidently slipped from the arm of the last woman to try on the slacks and straighten the pocket. Burned into the leather are the words "live love." My brain plays curiously with short arrangements of words, and the words "live love" easily morphed into evil evol(ution,). I attached the strap to the frame in the same place a Beaux Arts painting might have a bronze titular plaque; connecting this work to the cycle of things described by my Nigerian friend.