Sometime in early January, a dear sister-from-another-mister called with a proposition.
“Do you wanna maybe write about some art?”
Kristin is the type who firmly knew what she was going to do with her heart and hands — and that’s to use them to make art — when we were 6 years old, in Mrs. Moran’s elementary-school “studio.” (At this stage, I could barely tie my smock.)
It’s a gift to grow into adulthood being the very thing you said you wanted to be when you grow up. It’s a greater gift to bear witness to and…