The human family is holographic; each member represents the whole. None of the members of the family can be plucked out and looked at in isolation. Every father is a mother and a daughter and a son, oscillating between genders and generations, and so it is with each part in the family drama. The situation as it actually is, is always ambiguous and the dynamic is always ambivalent. In actuality the human body is schizophrenic; reality is an overcode, software that translates the whole as separate parts. The process is digital, placing a space of time between the poles; the "whole that is greater than the sum of its parts" is digitally translated as parts becoming whole. Reality is constructed from parts that remain parts by incorporating an artificial unity. The real body is a corporate body, a historical body, a time/space contiuum.

It is Sunday morning and Mother's Day on Harris Creek, a day on which we collectively affirm our parts, our roles in the family drama, the drama of birth and death and the tragicomic time between. But the play is a fiction, made by words and numbers; it is the map and not the territory.