Bone-dry Chenin and quiet victories

This afternoon a Trịnh Công Sơn record spun while sunlight cut the atelier like a measured line. Poured a small glass of bone-dry Chenin and watched the light find the timber I chose — pleasure in precision, nothing wasted.

A junior translated a sketch into a load-bearing wall with the exactness I ask for; that obedience to instruction feels almost intimate. Workshops at the Pigalle duplex resume this week — bring a good book and the discipline to follow directions, and perhaps the city will teach you something new.