_{"Why do you keep washing it off?" she asked, referring to the fact that I kept taking the canvas to the sink, or into the shower, or out onto the sidewalk to spray it with the garden hose. "You put more effort into erasing the stupid thing that you do painting it. You must hate that angel more than you love her."
I sighed. "I don't know why I'm so obsessed with this image, really, but it keeps coming up. I think that it wants to be created; I think that she wants to be seen. Or at least, that's what I want with this angel," I continued, spinning myself in circles on one of the barstools I kept in the living room. I made myself a little dizzy.}