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After my husband died, I felt like one of those spiraled shells washed upon the beach... Poke a straw through the twisting tunnel, around and around, and there is nothing there. No flesh. No life. Whatever lived there is dried up and gone.
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Stone Mountain, Georgia, still had Ku Klux Klan marches, and I had a wild and courageous mother who'd put us in the car to watch them. She wanted us to know those things existed.
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I use the term bar-room to represent every means for the sale and traffic in liquor, and I earnestly appeal to the people to put an end to the traffic, no matter under what name or guise it may be carried on.
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I believe framing reality is one of the only ways we can ever be sure it actually exists. In that regard, I feel as though I'm still learning who I am as an artist.
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It is not often that the real world conjures worse than what we can imagine.
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The way I see it, love is an amusement park, and food its souvenir.
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Often, just as when they were children, it was four against one when some argument came up. At least they no longer sat on him to force him to submit to their wishes.
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The truth will set you free. Unless you're guilty.
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We are on earth as extensions of God to finish the work He began. We are the essence of God, His on-going incarnation in the world.
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For me, life is an opportunity to serve Him, and death is the privilege of getting to be with Him.
