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My Studiolo
I come here, attentvely, to reflect on interests and uncertainties, feeling troubled yet curious, buffered from immediate cares, responsive to unexpected remembrance, speculative while (because?) imperfectly informed, eager to follow clues that point to something promising, to something that will support me in my ignorance.
My ignorance — alive, I am uncertain; I never know what will happen next. Were the stone thoughtfully sentient, it would be certain that nothing would happen until some force external to it jolted it into action. I come to mystudiolo owing to my ignorance. It grows, not from failings, not from excessive wants or needs. My ignorance is the price of life, embodied in vast space and restless time. In living, nothing exists; all emergesable to discern prospects fully or surely Here, it's my space where I recognize the value of things about me, seen and unseen, raising this up, lowering that, then reversing, this down and that that up, judging worth as I see fit, its possibility and its lack.