Shadows on a slab of wood, shine on metal–a dream within those details. I sit gazing at the space, the walls, the coats on the door, vases on a high shelf, a row of blue-and-white dish towels hanging by the sink, my glasses on a sage green sofa. Beside the aluminum-colored computer is a lacy Victorian tea cup and a row of books, their slender stripes of color and letters promising a world. My eyes rest on the objects that will each have a time of action. I will dry my hands on the towel, slide into my coat and go out. The vase will hold a stem of lilies. The lamp will glow, glasses straddle my nose. The computer will hum and vomit a world onto my face. and the books. The books beckon. “Come in. Come into me. Come into these pages, turn them, spider letters weaving threads between your synapses.” These mercurial objects carry a world of experience. I look at them and the memory of the experience and the promise of another day, another partnership, another adventure with them is in their sculpture as they sit and watch me.