My room is on a floor. Strange how I remember exactly where I was each time when I start charcoaling after a long hiatus. First, on the floor Sophomore year in my college dorm; several times on the floor in the living room, in a studio when I worked at a boarding school, and last night on a rug watching Hackers. My room consists of me, my drawing board, my box of charcoals, by large-print paper (it seems to be the only size my hand can control) and a shirt that can get dirty. I’m comforted by my creation, fours it’s been the same study. Female head with hands at 24”X36”. I made two last night. The loneliness of not having my children with me was forgotten. I was in a room –no. I was in a place. I was happy.