Sometimes I go on this kind of vacation where I just work, where I work with the simple mind of no questioning. I do not ask why, I do not tug at my hair asking why and what for. I work, simply, peacefully, purposefully. But a vacation is nothing more than a temporary break from the everyday. Most of the time, I am asking why, and what for? Most of the time, I am pulling at my hair, asking myself, asking the great Without Myself, why do I do this, why do I paint, what is it for, what meaning does it have, and, if meaning is to be found, where is it to be found? I think the hardest part, sometimes the hardest part of what I do is not knowing whether it matters or not. A doctor does not go through her day wondering whether what she does matters—she knows it does. But a painter does—this painter does. I think probably the answer is a simple one, and the path lies in learning not to distrust simplicity, maybe that is where the answer lies. Why do I do this, why do I paint? What does it matter why? I paint. That is what I do. Right. No matter. None.