Like everyone else, I should have seen this coming, but didn’t. Walking amongst the agaves in Mexico for the third year, either the agaves had changed or I had changed, or both. Last year I saw nocturnal desert landscapes viewed from solitary, noble cacti - more dreamlike than not. This year, the agaves were injured, battered, flawed, beset. Peace was nowhere. Looking over my work, I know that climate change has entered into my relationship with these plants. Bizarre colors, contorted shapes, pockmarked surfaces of the dying, withering fronds all came to my attention. These features suggested future altered landscapes to be witnessed by the agave. Whether these details were there last year, but less noticed, I do not know. I had nearly dismissed looking at the agaves again this year. But they had now so radically changed that the entire framework had shifted. The oval, through which human vision sees, sets us apart from the world, and I hope pushes this possible future world further away. It is impossible to separate what you look at from how you look at it. My work is a reflection of my environment, and that is changing.