 So, I live, practice, teach, and build in Northwest Arkansas, home of the Ozarks, the home of Walmart. We like to call it the land of Bill and a billion chickens. Geographically, we're many ways located in the middle of nowhere, but, you know, more and more we feel like we're considered to be close to everywhere. Arkansas, I consider an environment of real natural beauty and simultaneously one of real constructed ugliness. So, abandonment, erasure, nostalgia, exploitation, they're all aspects of this place. I think they sometimes contributed that perception that we're culturally and aesthetically impoverished, which is certainly many ways right the opposite. But it is true that I live in a land of disparate conditions. It's not just a setting for our work, it's really part of our work. And I don't see it as a negative. In fact, I see it as a deep source of possibilities. In direct engagement with the world as it's given to us in the everyday world. And by choosing to stay for the last 24 years here, what we've been able to do is turn over the rock and discover the underbelly of our place. The visceral presences and the expressive character that really informs and sustains our efforts here. Now, I'm working from a very simple conviction that architecture is larger than the subject of architecture. So, what we try to do is look at the world around us with a wide-angle microscopic lens to generate ideas and actions from our direct experience with the everyday, between the ordinary and the extraordinary, between personal history and the history of our discipline. And what that demands of us is to be very careful observers of our place, of the geological, the biological, and always the cultural aspects of place, which has allowed us to develop a more bottom-up process that allows us to amplify the small things that manifest the large things. So, in that line of thinking, we can say after the great poet William Carlos Williams and his poem, Patterson, is that there are no ideas but in things. I think this, as contemporary architects, really helps us address some very critical questions. One is, how do you engage the world without being consumed by it? And simultaneously, how do you enrich and dignify the experience of your place for those who engage your work? I think that's something that a set of questions we continue to deal with on a day-to-day basis. And a large part of that is because we're very interested in demonstrating that architecture can happen anywhere, at any scale, in any budget. So, we take on all comers, all projects, from the prosaic to the honorific, from a free health clinic to the new architecture school, in an attempt to use design to develop a culture in communities where you typically wouldn't expect to find it. I think it's safe to say that most architecture isn't very good, and most good architecture is good enough for most days. But there is some architecture, some buildings, that should rise above the everyday. In many ways, I see our task as the task of recreating strangeness, of developing a connection to our place that is singular and yet simultaneously universal, simultaneously local, and yet having a global presence.