“Hope was a tchotchke sitting on a high shelf along with other fragile things. Every time a train went by, the house shook and things fell off the shelf. Each time this happened they were replaced by cheaper and cheaper things until nothing was left but a collection of cheap unbreakable plastic junk.” – Laurie Anderson
Tagged: art, Hirshhorn Museum, museum, photography, Washington D.C.

My Oliver. My last born. My easiest and most challenging, my most confident and most doubtful. You haven’t needed me as much, parting easily, not lingering or hanging on my words. Yet sometimes you need me so much, too much, more than I can give in a minute or a day. Let me spread it out over your day, your year, your lifetime. But to you a lifetime is inconsequential, it is urgent today. It demands all of you and therefore it should, and needs, to demand all of me. So much swirling and twisting and tumbling and twirling. Your thoughts dance and leap and make big and overwhelming movements, never settling. You wish for puberty so your body can grow but your mind is already racing ahead.
