sometimes i wish i was a painter. i love small paintings. maybe i always wish that, but when i see paintings i like i think i'd like to do that, if i had the patience and dexterity. i saw some paintings this morning like that, that i thought, and then, no, i know i can't paint like that, but i'd like to live with one of those little paintings, i could almost live in the painting Doghouse, by amy bennett. i'm satisfied with photographs mostly, but it's the lack of control or something, it frustrates, but it excites too. this is something in a way freer and less controlled i do. give yourself credit after you look elsewhere longingly. see what you have. i have something, i don't control it always, but something. i hope it's hope without expectation, intimate hope, like a suggestion. i walk with it like a dog or spirit. i invite it and it comes, sometimes in its own fashion. i think it doesn't matter the medium so much, one would like to make a little world in this one, part of the world apart, that is one's own, yet inviting to others, strangers who suddenly connect, feeling the rush of intimacy and welcome.