Why does an artist’s life always seem tied to accumulation? To create, to move, to live—it all leaves a trail. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it’s all of ours—for loving art and life so much that we try to hold on to every piece of it. The truth is, I wish I could walk lightly through the world and still feel surrounded by everything that “matters”. Can I trust my mind to carry it all until the very end—or will I always carry it on my back, just in case it forgets?