Thinking about that which cannot be thought about. The emerald stashed in the heart of a Japanese temari ball — you’re delighted by the expert working of threads but it’s just a tchotchke. Think of a hairy barbarian’s embarrassment if his mates caught him with a toy amongst his loot. Only you know the emerald’s inside and maybe the brute has already killed you off.
Or there’s a young dog digging feverishly in a sand pile. Glee is in his eyes as they disappear into the hole. But he never finds a thing.
This is the stalled artist trying to think her way back into creativity. To enter the wordless via reasoning. To listen for silence while clapping both hands.