In my studio there’s a soup pot.
One of those heavy Le Creuset ones.
And it keeps surprising me.

Uniform orange.
With a lid like a vault door.

You throw in a few loose ingredients—
vegetables, water, spices—
the lid goes on,
and then something happens.

Inside, work is being done.
Tinkered with. Bubbling. Negotiating.

And a little later: soup.
Ready. Delicious.

A small factory without staff.
But with magic.

Maybe the same applies to good work.
You bring ideas together, close it off for a while,
let it simmer.

And only then do you lift the lid.