When I graduated from high school, my grandmother gave me a
set of china. Plates, smaller plates, serving dishes, sugar and creamer set, gravy boat—the
whole kit and caboodle. They’d been having a promotion at her grocery...
At a dance show last weekend, one of the pieces listed a few
outside sources as inspiration. One was a story about Marcel Proust and a
friend, who had quarreled over life and art: specifically, about whether an
artist should...
I’ve been sequestered in my house for the past couple of
months, determined to finish a collection of stories I’ve been working on for,
well, probably a couple of years now. Or more. Who knows. I’ve been writing
them off...
"As soon as we express something, we devalue it strangely. We believe ourselves to have dived down into the depths of the abyss, and when we once again reach the surface, the drops of water on our pale fingertips no longer resemble the ocean from which they came...Nevertheless, the treasure shimmers in the darkness unchanged." ---Franz Kafka
