I was reading about Anne Truitt, a minimalist sculptor/painter, she spoke of her art as lovers and babies. She said she preferred wood over steel, and that is was like having a perfectly eligible man right before her (steel), but just was not loveable. It was the wood she loved. The deterioration of the wood in the outdoors, subject to nature and time. I felt a closeness with her in word. I understood her.

Listen to what she has written:

"I notice that as I live from day to day, observing and feeling what goes on both inside and outside myself, certain aspects of what is happening adhere to me, as if magnetized by a center of psychic gravity.

I have learned to trust this center, to rely on its acuity and to go along with its choices although the center itself remains mysterious to me. I sometimes feel as if I recognize my own experience. It is a feeling akin to that of unexpectedly meeting a friend in a strange place, of being at once startled and satisfied -startled to find outside myself what feels native to me, satisfied to be so met. It is exhilarating."