The space is tight, confined, limited, and yet, by letting go of everything, I can move in infinite directions, a web of knowledge surrounds me and intertwines with my ideas in limitless ways. I leave something in each place, a piece of jewelry, a dress, a note, something precious, which was given to me by someone else, I leave anything I can behind. Still, I am weighed down. Technology makes me carry cords and ways to save things, the weather makes me conscious of a need for a coat, the lightest down that becomes compact as a pillow. I carry documents that represent my birth, tiny footprints on the back, of which, play witness to the slight congenital distortions in my feet. My diplomas, years of following a structured path, that mean so little to me, but so much to those who would judge me; these are made of heavy paper curving at the edges. I try to curl myself into a tighter and tighter form, washing my clothes more in order to need less. I conserve everything I can, to gain more, more time, more experience and perhaps, one day, more love. I walk new paths and follow the same ones, to see things more closely. At different times of day, the sun introduces me to new things on the same path; I might stay in one place for the duration of a month or perhaps two. The more I give up, the more compassion I feel, the less stressed, more open, the more people I meet who I love. This is the life of a nomadic artist, abandoning objects, while collecting the hearts and minds of people, a web linking one to another.