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by Monster Mom
Something happens on the other side of art, When the pen slows down to honor the mastery of language. A kind of trust of the ink. Call it practice— The mindless calling in of words, letters slowly arriving with grace. In this very slow wing Trust these words of...
by Monster Mom
Every lover had to know my love of making art – even an abandoned love of making art – came before them. How would the children, each a world born of creation, ever know my beloved art as the ultimate stepfather. Before seven years of age, when the ego confronts,...
