Time is measured out in chords learned and scales mastered, in stitches made and socks piled up in the dresser. I ask myself constantly how I have arrived in June from January, and what do I have to show? Travel, music, conversation. Friendships strengthened and knowledge gained, and then lost. All these things are invisible yet mount up to leave indelible marks on the inside. I am trying to be a better artist, by which I mean not a painter or sculptor but a daily practitioner of creation. Sometimes when things seem too quiet it's as much as a loss as when time is too full. I am trying to return to better habits, to relearn ways of working and being that led me to better places in the past. Bear with me while I try.