Blog

Which female figures in art saw through the flimsy sham of the limits imposed on them, instead blazing trails that shaped the way I move through the world?

We love this place, Earth. Right? We don't seem to be a species with much foresight, but surely we love this place. How can art remind me that not all is lost?

If art stuns me with its greatness, beauty and power; if it lifts me beyond my daily concerns; if it fills me with exhilaration or, conversely, a reflective sadness; or if it leaves me with a sense of itself being beyond comprehension, it has done some great things.

Trees always possess some magic, even when they are unadorned. When they burst into a riot of innumerable greens, the spirit, dampened by snow mould, starts to flutter and unfurl. Nowhere is this more true than in wintry climates where the days grow long well before the temperatures climb above freezing.

This is story. And story is medicine. And sometimes medicine tastes awful. It might even make us feel worse before it makes us better. I came out of that story refined as if by fire. Scorched. Burned even. But still alive.