I don’t separate museum practice from daily life anymore. Close looking happens while watering plants, noticing how light pools on leaves. Interpretation unfolds on morning walks, shaped by weather and mood. Patience is practiced at a windowsill, waiting for roots that will come when they’re ready.
Art has taught me that meditation doesn’t always look like stillness. Sometimes it looks like walking a dog who insists on stopping. Sometimes it looks like changing the water in a propagation jar and trusting the process. This is what I mean by living composition: a life arranged around attention, care, and the willingness to stay. Not everything has to resolve. Not everything needs to be explained.
Some things just need to be noticed and lived with until they quietly change us.
