The mosquito that has been squished against the bus window is humming and inviting me to stare at it. I can hear the same humming from the lashes that fall on cheekbones and the food that get ́s caught between teeth. Trashes stashed in the seams of streets, body hairs, chopsticks that become toys for painful games, scars, ripped up cuticles and stockings create a magnetic field. I feel equally clumsy and lucky when I listen to it’s low buzzing. I’m an intruder with a face that feels impossibly warm from the need of getting closer, my hands grasping for proper distances. I’ve never had a clear understanding of the boundaries of privacy and decency, I don’t think I ever will. By painting these small obsessive treasures I’m softly trying to feel the lines I seem to be missing, and finding comfort in the act of doing so.