As I sit at my dining table, my gaze often focuses on the painting of a bug on my wall (“The Motovun Bug,” June 24, 2011). I have placed it on the wall in such a way that my eyes cannot but stumble upon it over and over again. In fact, every single day. Although I love all of my paintings, I am kind of partial to this particular one as of late. It sums up my life in Motovun, Istria, and Croatia as a whole. The bug. For that reason, this painting is always with me in my mind, even when I am far away. At the beginning, it was the focus of my fear and anger. As well as deep, suffocating hatred. By and by, it has turned into something entirely different. Just another bug among bugs, of which there are many all around me. As of late, I also find it rather pretty. My bug, as it were. Which is exactly why I painted it in the first place. Of course, it was my way of dealing with fear and anger. Slowly but surely, the hatred is ebbing away. What I now feel cannot be called love, not exactly, but it is surely edging that way. And the shaman in me already feels kind of proud of this little ruse of old. Domesticating a tricky bug by painting it is a skill for just a few.