My muse has fled. I know you probably think that is hocus-pocus, but wherever I have lived and been productive, there was a place for my muse. It’s a ghost-y kind of occupant, who makes the art through my own head and hand. In our apartment on rue de Lille, in Paris, she resided in a corner of the apartment, where I came up with my first Artnotes (1998), and I painted and wrote and broke into the realm of being an artist. I could feel her occupy a place, near my head, and off we’d go. |
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