Writing with a dead pigeon in the pocket.

There's a necessary contradiction in what we make and what we show.

Three times in one day, people stop at my art tent and say, “I used to make art but then – life changed.”

 “What happened?” I ask. One says: “Depression.” An elderly woman dressed in soft greens, her hand encased in a cast, tells me: “My hand isn’t what it used to be.”

“Sometimes we have to unlearn a thing to relearn it,” I offer to her, and then I say it…