Dear End of July,
A bit of writing for you, today, if you feel like reading. See, it's not just the topics, it's not just the facts, it's the telling and sharing of the space. It's the hearing of it. An artist once talked to me about 'permission.' I didn't really have a clue what she meant by it then, but I kept it, I kept it as a question. What could it mean? Why would I need permission? I didn't think I did need it. Some days you don't.
For the other days, you want an essay like this one from Dave Hickey. He'll give you permission and plenty of it, and even a little salute as you go in through the out door.
Press here to link to the Paris Review.
