Michael Kelley, Pencil on paper, 1978. "I remember the randomness in the scattered pile of spent shell casings that grew next the the M-60 machine gun that I was operating. There was an odd beauty in the golden, reflective heap of spent links and brass that would litter the edge of my position in the deafening silence following the firing of the M-60. I sometimes found myself transfixed during the lull, the air heavy with the pungent smell of gunpowder and cordite, surrounded by our deadly debris, mesmerized by the haunting, abstract beauty of the battlefield, yet unable to reconcile that visoin with what I had really done. What had I done? How much was a dream, ho."