What they disallowed in me, remains. What they bled from me, so stark and violent, I scooped it into my hands and drank it all back. It rolls down the corners of my soft cheeks, baptismal.
“Every artist worth her salt knows what I mean — either one chooses the well trodden path, platitude, sentimentality, the current orthodoxy, whatever, or one blazes a trail which is, no matter the nature of the work, part of the process of becoming.”
Rikki Ducornet