The palette that valley left in my hands.

The white, ochre and charcoal on my palette were on the cave walls of the Lot more than 17,000 years ago.

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“The Lot rises through my hands.”

Why so much of my palette is gray.

The eye can tell apart some 500 shades of gray. Paul Klee called it the richest color.

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“Boredom might be a gateway, not an enemy.”

Why a painting dries on its own clock.

Patient poverty: what medieval monks called staying present when you might receive nothing at all.

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“Some things can’t be seized, only received.”