To reach my new studio, I walk down St. George, past the food trucks and magnolia petals until I reach the bright, metallic blue sky that is the AGO. I then turn into Grange Park and find a young man chasing his Chihuahua while a a beautiful old woman hums and does Tai Chi. There’s a pale blue wrought iron gate with a pesky lock that I walk through to reach the front door of the old church rectory that on entrance smells like stale bread and paint. By the time I reach the attic, I’m a little our of breath. So much has happened between here and home. I’m very often the first one in and I relish the silence. After such a long stretch working at my kitchen table, I’d forgotten what a commute can bring about, a shift in mindset, an unfurling of ideas, a transition. It takes a minute to acclimate. I flick the light switch and turn the kettle on. As the water boils, I think to myself, what am I making today?