Literally.

I want material to fill my rooms, and overflow with cascading rivers of velvet and silk, brocade making hills and vallys through which chiffon drifts like mist.

Fabrics calm me like nothing else can, to walk into a store, soothes me instantly, that knot that creating eases is simply no longer there while I'm discovering new materials; colours, textures, delicacy, weight.. make me new and I need not even buy anything.

There is nothing fetishist about this, nothing else but simple aesthetic happiness.

A laptop with Photoshop5.5 and colour laser printer, scanner with 1200dpi.. perhaps someone's business will go under and I'll be able to buy them at an auction.

I cannot wish for that, so will simply have to work hard myself and earn the right to buy.

An Edwardian wood or stone villa, to paint in all the glorious vibrant tones of nature, a sunset framed in the inky blue of midnight, a bright frog laying in a cloud of creamy wool, midday filled with rose petals... each room to reflect neutral beauty, with no agenda to enhance or supress.

A secret garden free from wasps and sounds of the city, with tall walls of green ivy, a carpet of feathery grass, stone sculptures from days long past living beyond our moments of time.

To travel the world and return home knowing the world is as wondrous as I'd believed. To live out of a backpack but come home to a hot bath. To see the age of human-kind recorded in stone and paint, and return to a country still discovering who it is.

To own all the books of the world, to enjoy their promise of a new world.

To sing all the songs of the world.

To smell all the scents of the world.

To live.