I have a poem which says: “To see light and not touch it, I myself will become such a mess of popular sadness. Rather forsake this tomb to go tipping on water, to nest in a lullaby of light. Fossil of confusion”
This is the heart of the space, but it is a space that is reserved. I don’t know if I made it so or if it evolved that way. The functions in the house somehow yield away from it, so in a way it remains the most private space.