(Aw! Lucretia beams in return, and then abruptly remembers there's no way to check what the photo looks like until she learns how to develop film. She frowns, rubbing her thumb over the back of the camera where a display would have been if it were digital.)

I love painting, (she says idly, looking up automatically for inspiration,) it's very comforting when it isn't deeply frustrating– uh, how about...

(Quotes would be nice, but she has nothing to hand to pull from. There's her journal... but that feels a little embarrassing.) Maybe a word? You could pick one for me, and I'll pick one for you.