A woman bought a piece from me three years ago, one of the small torn-paper ones I was never fully sure about. Yesterday she sent me a photo of it hanging in her new place, over a fireplace, next to this big ugly-gorgeous plant. She wrote "it's lived in three homes with me now."

I don't know why that hit me the way it did. The piece wasn't my favorite. But she's moved it every time, found a wall for it each place. That's more than I can say for some of the pieces I'm actually proud of, which are sitting in my studio in a pile because I don't know what to do with them.

Anyway I just sat there staring at the photo for a while. Felt weirdly less alone in the work. That's all.