Sunday, February 4

• The sense of futility that overwhelms me when I try to create a semblance of order in the morning. Wipe off the stove top, but I can't enjoy the emerging silver, Just see all the dirt stuck to the edges. 
• The strange quiet of the school on a Sunday. Just the beauty of the old building, and its own internal murmurings.
• A cloud-like stain on the bottom of the wall in the new studio in Beit Alliance, looking like a charcoal drawing.

• The layers of plaster, paint and time embodied in the crumbling walls

• the way the light floods through the windows, casting squares on the walls and floors, making the crumbling room glow.

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