A bag lady (vagrant) carries with her in her endless journeying through the streets, night and day, her myriad paper bags, each containing a fragment of a soul. A poet, painter, writer, musician, or indeed carpenter, boat-builder or person with a hobby, must have a place to work relentlessly to develop and house the developing soul, without which she or he feels and is dead. Studios and workshops, “A room of one’s own,” are spirit houses, containers of the exploring soul.8
