Spilled Merlot on my white, lace Easter dress. Red lips stained on grandmothers antique tea set. Green tomatoes ripened too quickly to fry. Drops of blood landed on my copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Rose petals fell off their bushes too early in the spring.
I may be drunk but my words can hold more liquor than I. Art is not meant to be beautiful or revealing of the world around us. It serves as an honest & sometimes heinous scope into the world of an individual. To be invited is neither grand nor something to belittle, but perhaps somewhereContinue reading “What It Means to Read Art”