Yesterday was a momentious, ugly, shocking day in the history of a country that is the only home I’ve ever known. I don’t feel like making art, or writing of beauty or hope.
And, yet, there is something in me that believes that others want better, and my job is to ally myself with them, and support that work and that mindset.
“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.” (T.S. Elliot)
Here is to all the new voices. May I be one.