I?m no artist. But every now and then I have this drive to work with my hands to create something. I believe it?s a basic human need. We are created in the image of our Father, and he is Creator; so, when we create, it?s not only natural, but it?s also spiritual.

Today I?ve been experimenting with different kinds of paper for creative ends. I?ve been soaking white, unlined paper in different substances to achieve a certain texture and color and age. It?s a fascinating, sensual process.

I hunch on the floor over the blue plastic basin, the rich aroma of black Trung Nguyen coffee steaming up and mixing with the heady fragrance of the fresh roses on the table. When I slide the first sheet of paper into the coffee, it absorbs the liquid slowly and unevenly. The fibers of the paper appear, unique on each sheet, like antique hidden maps, like fingerprints. I hang the soft, delicate, dripping paper to dry and begin the next sheet. Eventually the smell and color of the coffee works its way not only into the fibers of the paper, but into the pores of my skin, darkening the lines of my palms and the edges next to my nails. I swirl the basin, and the small amount of liquid rearranges itself; the grounds, the patterns formed, remind me of something a fortune teller would use to see the future. The paper doesn?t fit flat in the basin, and it scrunches, looking like a ridge of foothills with streams running through them. The gypsy with wizened brown skin and polished black eyes, with beads swinging and skirts flowing: There are yet many mountains to cross in your future.