There is a black and white stripped box sitting on my desk, lit by two lamps. Everything else that usually clutters my workplace has been put away. No scissors, pens, pencils, brushes, cutting mat, ... only this box in a very dramatic set-up. Though it is the only object on my desk, it doesn't appear los; it is strangely present, like a soulful performer on an empty stage. It fills the void. The content of this box is known to me. It is Mary Beth's hair, two braids wrapped in yellow tissue paper.