I didn’t just write at red lights, I wrote at green lights and on the downtown straightaway. At 50mph, 45, 35 winding my island – county highway 56 – two quiet lanes. Around neighborhood turns and slow through the school zones. In the crosswalk, the...
On the other side of art, The pen slows down to honor the mastery of language. To trust the ink. Call it practice— The mindless calling in of words, letters slowly arriving with grace. In this very slow wing a patient honor to voice who enters faster than a...
Every lover had to know my love of making art – even the grief of an abandoned love of making art – came before them. The children, each a world born of creation, would come to know my beloved art as their mother’s ultimate partner. Before seven years of age,...
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