Settled into my new loft, that period of confusion has passed and the serious work of the studio has begun again. It is remarkable -- this power of place. I know it in my nerves, but with every move forget how deeply the tendrils of connection must grow to feel again at home and at one with my environment.

The move was in early March and the daily routine of the spring and summer, dog walks, hot spells, changes in light, events, watching the two flymen scale the Times' facade, the rhythm of a new neighborhood, have finally become my own.

I want to write here more often.