I ran away from home when I was small and I could never find it again."" Mr. Gregory, whose only summer address is Bikini Atoll, is an artist and a nomad and in frangible, sometimes almost unintelligible, associative images he retraces his Wanderjahre. Whether in Malta's catacombs or Calypso's cave, or Cornwall and Kent, or Greece, Finland, France, Morocco, Iceland and beyond. There was the Colonel on one of his itinerant stops who said, as he locked him out, ""My dear, he's weatherproof"" and for the most part he is--travelling on and on with his tent and sleeping bag. . . . . Formless fragments, ""grains of sand continually shaken in a sieve,"" or dustdevils on a high wind.