I have spoken before of my great love and respect for my brother– Mon Bon Croissant Fromage Frère. He is a runner, a gentleman, a stock boy, my “Murder, She Wrote”-on-sleep-timer companion, and our very own White Haven Cat Correspondent. He recently took some photos of our family’s cat, Cally, that were SO STUNNING I had no choice but to fast-track them.
They are amazing. JQ, have you heard of the Baroque period in art history? OMG, in medias res 4evr.
After receiving this, I asked him why he isn’t in art school. (Reason #1: he is seventeen.) (Reason #2: He’s really good at math.)
To entice, let us examine: What is the path of art school? Well, I am an example of someone who is holds approximately 1/2 of an MFA– I’m a good enough case study. It is Tuesday evening and I am wearing a second-hand sweater and boxer shorts and drinking wine from a squat green glass and listening to Law & Order and writing about the relationship between memory, space, and poetry. I am alone, and peering over the partition out the window into the cloudy grey-blue sky and the verdant treescape that overtakes my window view. I am contemplating black bean soup. I live in one room with one other person in a building on a leafy street where there are lots of other rooms in which other people live. It is warm, and with the screens in, I can hear some of them– radios, chatter, laughing. There are things I don’t have, things I don’t do, but I printed four really good photographs today, and people like me, and I like myself, and I love my brother, that great bastion of compassion and coolness.
I am lucky, and we are lucky.