Outside the shop it is grey and raining and warm and everyone who comes in tells me that the weather is doing strange things lately.
Inside the shop I can only think about Anais Nin because I am very slowly reading her journals. She is dead now. And her writing, as someone said to me, is brilliant and brave.
She wrote what she really thought. This is a terrifying concept. Because, as she said:
“When one is pretending, the entire body revolts.”
There is thinking enough for weeks and weeks in this small sentence.
Sculpture by Ken Martin