Things one should never outgrow:

playing Picasso face, ha. 

Every day children teach us (if we're paying attention) that there are often other ways to utilize objects than their intended design might suggest. Who says Magna-tiles are more about engineering than the arts? My oldest grandson L demonstrates that like all well-designed toys, they are both STEM and STEAM.  

There's a name for this limiting thinking habit: functional fixedness. You know— stuck thinking or perhaps fast vs slow thinking. We all do this. Taylorism and assembly-line thinking is inherent in many systems. In the name of efficiency and productivity, education sometimes teaches us to see (tidy) categories instead of (messy) spectrums. But those spectrums? That's where the imagination goes jet-skiing. 

This is what I love about us humans: for every brilliant monomath along comes a playful polymath from left field. Let's be honest, you know a guy, don't you? Like this guy. 😂 Everyone knows this guy. Or consider *mic drop* this gal. 

I've been a stuck thinker more times than not, but I'm also the guy who once made a hornet sword when I could have simply bought some wasp spray. Efficient? Um, it worked (temporarily), but here's the thing: it was 100% more FUN! 

Dear friends, do you play Picasso face, aka are you a part-time MacGyver, aka how do you avoid functional fixedness? 

Something Bigger

"No man can put a chain about the ankle of
his fellow man without at last finding the
other end fastened about his own neck."
Frederick Douglass (1883)

Last Friday, I received these witty vintage buttons and this fine postcard from a fellow blogger. Many weeks ago, she posted about the buttons, and offered to mail them to fellow bloggers. So friendly of her (and completely unnecessary). I love them. And I love her blog, especially for her book reviews, her humour, and her Friday Randomness. 

Across our countries, I estimate J and I live about 3000 kilometers (1800 miles) apart. Throughout my life as a Canadian, I've counted Americans as my friends, my colleagues, my neighbours and I've viewed America as sort of like my rich, famous step-brother, ha. My Dad had deep respect for Americans and loved visiting the US. If he were still alive, I suspect he'd be angry and confused by our current political rift but he would also likely consider it temporary. My fingers will always be crossed for that wish. 

Despite what's changed, I think J's neighbourly gift says something important about being a part of the blogging community: it's borderless. Yet her gesture also says something else. Something bigger. Note the three references in this gift. 

First, J may remember I recently wrote about encountering a Frederick Douglass statue in Belfast. He's one of my favourite Americans, yet his passion for literacy/reading/writing/arts (particularly photography) is something J and I both love as well. As they say, friends have common interests. 

Second, consider what George Orwell teaches about friendship in his (perpetually relevant) magnum opus, 1984. The novel's totalitarian state undermines authentic friendship, relegating it instead to "comradeship" to ensure that loyalty is first and foremost to the Party. Hmm, something about this sounds very familiar in 2026. Sigh. 

Third, what did Emily Dickinson say about friendship? In a personal letter she writes, "my friends are my estate." Now that's a legacy. 

Dear J, I'm sending you something in return. Because, friendship. Despite everything, cheers to ours and to the world's. 

1/8

Meanwhile in Saskatchewan 👊

You know that joke about Saskatchewan, right? Easy to draw, hard to spell. 😜 

But harvest-time on the prairies? Growing and gathering food for the world? No joke. 1 in 8 Canadian jobs are connected to agriculture and the agri-food sector. Dear friends, have you thanked a farmer lately?

Yes

Ta-da!

Some reports claim that a toddler hears the word no more than 400 times daily. Hmm. I have no problem with the word no. It's necessary. Think consent, boundaries, safety, logic, discipline.... 

Yet, regarding the default (and potential) overuse of no, here's to using language intentionally to provide a possible solution: a yes space. These are spaces, places, zones, and situations where children are encouraged to (safely) be independent, less restricted, and make their own choices—spaces where they will rarely hear no.

So when I spotted a vintage elementary school desk in a thrift store recently, I thought of my grandkids, and bought that solid-wood gem for a mere $15. Although it had no structural issues or damage, I spent a weekend refinishing it (sanding sanding sanding), restoring it to raw wood followed by three coats of a child-safe water-based finish (more sandings between each). However, I did leave the marker scribbles under the desktop. As with any of the many furniture pieces I've refinished over three decades, my aim is never to erase its history, only extend it.

She won't turn three until Winter, so my middle granddaughter (I) has several years until she starts school, but I knew this desk was perfect for her. She has a new brother, and although he's crawling now, he's not quite yet a playmate, so she continues to be engaged in and content with imaginative self-directed play. She loves flat surfaces where she can arrange her toys ("guys") to tell stories, pretend to cook for her customers, read her books, draw and write. Typically whenever she creates something, she remarks, "Ta-Da!" 😍Plus, her parents tell me she also now prefers to eat her lunch at her desk, ha. And if she marks it up or spills paint or whatever, I say yes, yes, yes. Let this desk be a part of her child wonder-factory, her yes space. 

Dear friends, did you grow up with yes spaces? 

Be like cats.

Still contemplating woolgathering, so when I noticed this patch of sunlight on my dining room floor, I thought of cats and how they will always find the sun and sleep. 

Cats don't need to be convinced but science says that 10+ minutes of sunlight exposure (especially outside, in the morning) has significant impacts on human mental health and well-being. Dear friends, why not sit in the sun or (better yet), lie down on the floor while woolgathering? We should be more like cats. Right? 

One more thing, a question; I'm stumped. But first, some context: I thought there must be a name for this cat-attracting "chunk" of a sunbeam. You know, a word that sort of means the opposite of a shadow. Or a technical word, something like "sneckdown" for example. The Internet must know, right? But nope.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered an uncharacteristic cyberspace void in this regard. Reluctantly, I asked AI (aka paste pudding, thank you Ray Bradbury): "There is no single, official one-word English noun exclusively for the bright shape cast on a floor by sunlight through a window, so people rely on descriptive phrases."

Well well well, you know I love to invent words so let's all remove our leashes and let our minds wander, shall we? Ha, here we go a-woolgathering....

What do you call the patch of sunlight on the floor? Or how would you describe it? Or...do you think any of my spitballs stick? 

• sun spot
• sun site
• sun puddle
• sun blanket
• sun throw
• sun haven
• sun oasis
• sun setting
• sun nook (s'nook) 🙌
• splace (sunny + place) 🤦

Got wool?

A video short featuring more
about this word from Phil, lol.

How are you utilizing your time? 

Yes, most of us are either too busy for much downtime and when we are idle, we busy ourselves (understandably) by consuming entertainment or worse, doomscrolling. Sigh. 

Hence I am happy to launch this word into your vocabulary (and worldview). Dear friends, a challenge: sip your coffee and let this word sail toward the sunrise along your peaceful horizon and let your woolgathering be like serenity-seeking. 

Perhaps you were already familiar but if not, consider this term's etymology: "woolgathering comes from the literal 16th-century practice of wandering through fields and hedgerows to collect loose tufts of wool left behind by sheep." Hmm, not exactly a highly constructive nor profitable endeavor, but is woolgathering/daydreaming completely meritless? It depends. 

I'm not referring to being unproductive, or replaying negative events and experiences, nor do I suggest you lose focus while you're cutting carrots. Instead, I'm talking about the value of intentional daydreaming. We humans are not designed to be endlessly "on." So, consider literal woolgathering. YOU HAVE ONE JOB: accumulating. (Also this: if possible, literally get moving.) Gather your "wool" mindfully. If that sounds like a contradiction to daydreaming, I see your point, but intent aims to transform. 

So, how? I don't know, but I do know how I escape my own unhelpful thoughts and I experience the benefits every day. It has taken me years but I know my brain. My brain seeks comfort and chocolate almonds and imaginary conflicts and unwarranted anxieties, so when it veers away from the sunrise, I use self-talk to remind myself that my brain is a bullshitter liar narcissist unreliable-narrator...so then I revert back to the harmless woolgathering... accumulating... sorting... sifting through those useful random thoughts (gather ye rosebuds while ye may). And whether that adds up to a "sock" or whatever hardly matters. Why? Because at least my mind had a coffee break and watched the sunrise instead of the news. 

The Answer?

Bebe Rexha & Dolly Parton
(on my current playlist)

Today there's an old conversation playing in my head. 

We were attempting to get to know each other better, and he asked, "what kind of music are you into?" That was a mistake. I'm terrible at small talk. I suspect many people would say, "oh I like almost anything" or "Not jazz" but... music is just too paramount within me for any definitive synopsis. (I've written about my playlist before.) 

I'd compare musical tastes to explaining how one falls in love. How do you articulate those highly personal and abstract and fervid whatabouts? Intangible notions that sometimes trigger love at first sight or maybe bit by bit and then suddenly all at once. For me, music (the arts) is the lifelong love: my first love, a love longer than all the other loves. Lonely (Gen X) kids found love where they could. My early loves were all in books and on the radio and TV. 

Anyway, we had a bit of a meandering conversation; I tried to explain that the music I like is not just about the genre, or performer, or time period—it depends on the songwriting, the personal connection, and the self-expression. It's a relationship. He considered this, and asked one last question, "so, you like Dolly Parton then? I said, "absolutely." Suddenly, we understood each other! It's true: Dolly always has a way of bringing people together.  

Today I'm thinking about 1970s childhood me sitting on the floor in front of the TV watching Dolly perform, feeling connected, and yes, it was love at first sight. (She was like my cousins' dolls.) But it was also her trademark self-deprecating humour, her warm neighbourliness, her sincere optimism and over time, her incredible generosity and humanity. Today, I am also remembering some other members of my childhood TV family: Mork (Robin Williams), and John Candy. Sigh. 

If music is indeed like love, this week our sorry world lost love personified. Nevertheless dear friends, notice (and don't forget) that even after this world-wide collective grief fades, Dolly will always be the answer to many of life's most challenging questions. 

Le'ts be honest

Source: The Contrarian
Click here for more from Canadian
Political Cartoonist Michael de Adder.

Are we Canadians surprised by the latest trade negotiations shitshow with the US? 

Hmm...this is who he "wished well." Doesn't it just tell you everything you need to know? 

(Thank you, PM Carney.)

Things one should outgrow

The OG Scottish oatcakes. Yum.

In Nairn, Scotland this summer I discovered The Scottish Oats Bible cookbook. It provided more than just a recipe for oatcakes (a traditional Scottish healthy food staple); it offered insight into recurring habits I've worked hard to break, one that periodically hijacks all my creative pursuits. 

I've been teaching myself to bake for years now. It's artsy and inventive, and sharing my creations with my friends/kids/grand-turkeys is joyful. It's also nostalgic; many of my recipes are connected to my past, including the Scottish oatcakes of my youth.

A family member had already provided my childhood recipe:

🥣Melt 1 cup of butter.

🥣Stir in 1.5 cups of brown sugar (vanilla & salt to taste).

🥣Stir in 4 cups of rolled oats (I added 1/4 c chopped almonds).

🥣Add mixture to greased muffin tins and bake at 350℉ for 18 minutes.

A totally "healthy food staple" right? Nope...but easy-peasy and delicious? Oat-ally!

Sure, the cookbook offered some tweaks, but then I (over)thought... I should revamp this recipe... I should make them healthier... I could use a sugar substitute... Applesauce...? Crushed bananas...? I could add protein... Hmm, my version isn't good...YET... I should add jam to my recipe... they're still garbage.... Notice what happened? 

There's nothing inherently wrong with reinvention; it's a key component in creativity. But it can slip into something I've struggled with that I'd call "self-surveillance." 

If you grow up in a neglectful or highly critical environment (both), that tricky inner narrator likes to monitor, judge, and urge you to adjust and adjust expecting improvements. Sure, it's a growth mindset but one that has run amok. It also elevates product over process, and when the product (for me) is food, shame will inevitably show up to gatecrash this party. But then I recall that there are those truly healthy alternatives. Being yumped. Living in the moment. Peace. (Insert cleansing breath here.)

Dear friends, how do you ignore/quiet/bludgeon your inner Statler & Waldorf?

Things that deserve more stink eye?

Um, this was a surprise. Hmm...is it just a coincidence or is this some sort of (cryptic) response to my recent post (beef) about WORDLE?

Um, you know when you've been joking (shit-talking) about the Internet (wasteland) and sharing your totally unserious (serious) feelings about sentient (consciously malicious) technology and (hostile) AI and the INEVITABLE SINGULARITY SPONSORED BY BILLIONAIRES (the greed-based ongoing decline toward a hell-scape dystopia whereby us regular folks are enslaved by our phones/ technology in service to corrupt influencers and unrestrained plutocrats aka META et al).... Well c'mon Internet (LORD OF THE PINGS), all I did was challenge WORDLE to a battle of wits!

So, am I officially frenemies with WORDLE? Or is this a white flag? Or is this a threat disguised as a white flag? (Spoiler: YES IT IS.) Now that they've destabilized me, who knows what this means, and what's next?!

Let's be honest

Even those who live in Polar Night
still "find the light."

Nothing says middle of August in northern Canada like a soon to mature sunflower. Why? 

The days are quickly becoming shorter here. In June we have close to 18 wonderful hours of daily sunlight, but in August? About 16. Near the end of September? Around 11. In December? A mere 7. But I'll take those seven and send good thoughts to the Canadians (and all northerners) who live north of the Arctic Circle.  

I don't mean to get ahead of myself, but if you live in the North, it's a bit like being a sunflower—everyday you notice, and you turn to the sun, with gratitude.  

Do you know the sunflower theory? It's a lovely story, unscientific, but warmhearted fiction. Young sunflowers do indeed turn east daily, seeking the sun (heliotropism), but the story tells that at night, sunflowers will turn to face each other, seeking the sun in a partner. Although a winning metaphor for how to find solace in each other during dark times, it is fiction. 

But finding the light in your (northern or elsewhere) surroundings (and friends) no matter the circumstances? Or blooming where you're planted? Let's be honest: those notions seem rooted in reason, wise, and like sunflowers, down-to-earth. 

Wordfuse (Excessive Words Edition)

I like to make up words.

(noun) PS (PostScript) + ness = an occasionally sarcastic but mostly polite word/euphemism used to describe compulsive talkers, (myself included) who continue blathering on much longer than is necessary (post script after post script after...) but due to the ideal combination of speaker and listener the experience is mutually rewarding aka a total vibe. 

Think of those fun people with whom you just click like long lost friends but after 35 minutes of blathering in the grocery store you missed a meeting, an appointment, your kids' swim meet, your job, your newborn's birth, etc. On the flipside are those compulsive talkers with an appalling lack of self-awareness about their annoying verbosity aka talkaholism. 

Dear friends, how do you halt a talkaholic?

Things the deserve/give the stink-eye:

←Tell me you've been to Canadian Tire without telling me you've been to Canadian Tire. 

Um, yikes. Canadian Tire garden and lawn statues are next level disturbing. Who is paying hundreds of dollars for these resin abominations?  

Need an obviously fake panda in a bamboo cage? Get it at CT. Need a gnome doing yoga? Also at CT. Or in this case, an owl with Graves disease? I must ask you, CT, have you ever seen an owl? Because let's be honest: in this case, your lawn crimes are owl of control. 😜

Small

A big thank you to London, Scotland, and Ireland for accommodating us Canadian tourists; I hope we left behind small footprints and a positive impression. Now one last excursion to share....

Just north of Dublin is a peninsula (once a small island) with a fishing community (about 8,000 folks) called Howth (rhymes with oath), a quick train ride from the city.  

This was our second visit. We had something to finish: the cliff walk. Last time it was raining, so we cut the walk short, but this time? Perfect weather. 

About a week before we visited Ireland the first time (2023), we met someone at a wedding—he was studying medicine in Ireland and told us Howth was his favourite place. We asked, why? He couldn't find the words but his body language said much. We are fans of serendipity and places people get emotional about, so we visited and it became a favourite too. Now my turn...how to describe? 

  🤔Let this good man's clip show you what words can't.

  🤔It's a cleansing breath of a place. 

  🤔It's a retreat, a haven, a resting place; I suspect Dubliners request their ashes be spread in Howth.

  🤔Think of a place that has almost everything: (in this case) incredible views, friendly folks, fresh seafood, street markets with huge brownies, colourful boats bobbing in blue coastline waters, rocky beaches with cold water where people swim anyway, playful otters, ice-cream shops, flowers that grow in cracks along rock walls, unexpected palm trees, a castle, and maybe one busker. Note that I said, almost. Why? Some places have too much, their abundance overwhelms and they don't feel...snug. Plus, setting is a relationship—we must bring something to our most cherished places—an impulse to attach to the stream of life.   

  🤔Like all words sometimes, my words are inadequate, so I will offer this final idea about Howth: my heart just endorses this place.

Quick research reveals that a teen-aged W. B. Yeats lived in Howth. He wrote fondly about it, sharing that he snuck out at night (classic teen move even in the 1880s), and also felt his first unrequited love there. Perhaps his famous poem The Lake Isle of Innisfree has clues to Howth? The poem expresses a longing to escape the urban confines and return to nature, build a cabin, plant a garden, live in "a bee-loud glade," seek peace next to the "water lapping with low sounds by the shore" and then even while stuck in the city hear this cherished place in the "deep heart's core." 

Dear friends, our hearts are small, and some places fill them so well. Whether travel is required or not, I hope you get plenty of time in places your heart endorses.

In-between

We ended our trip in Dublin and so we did it right: parks, pub-food, street performers, a craic comedy club and the Guinness Storehouse. Everyone told us this tour is a must-see, but could it match the excessive hype? I enjoy Guinness so I remained hoptimistic.

(Aside: Conan O'Brien says he made his own Guinness once by blending a loaf of pumpernickel bread, burying it in the backyard for six weeks, and then... he got sicker than a dog. LOL, if you've seen Guinness and watched it foam, you might also find his recipe hilariously plausible. 😂😄😆)

So, would I also recommend this tour? 

It's fantastic! It's unexpectedly sensory—sights, sounds, touch, smell, and (of course) taste, and the only negative is that your nervous system may not recover from the prices in the gift shop! But the best part? Arthur's Bar on Floor 5! We visited on a Saturday so maybe we were just lucky? Because we enjoyed a 30-minute concert: trad music, Irish dancing, a harpist. Fantastic! 

After we met some fun Americans on a "divorce holiday" lol, I snapped this photo in-between drinks (3 pints ftw) at the Gravity Bar on Floor 7. I describe this mural as "3-D glasses-inspired" and there are several in and outside the storehouse; google tells me the talented artist is a Dubliner named Aches. (I'd call him the new Chuck Close.) 

Anyway, dear friends, a pea-brain multiple choice question for you: does this mural depict

a. musician Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

b. entrepreneur founder Arthur Guinness?

c. the vision of someone who's consumed too many Guinness?

d. who cares? Sláinte!🍺

Big

During our visit to Galway on Ireland's west coast, we encountered this 3-meter high "Seated Figure" along the Claddagh basin. It had just been installed as a preview for the city's annual arts festival, which we very much enjoyed during out 2023 trip to Galway. 

So who is this big, pensive man?

I have no idea, but if you're wondering, watch this short video about artist Sean Henry and his "Seated Figure." 

As an older white guy with a beard who favours darks colours who also happens to carry a satchel (ha yes, I admit that it's basically a murse), I felt a little too seen next to this dude. But as an art-guy who LOVES how this figure invites curiosity and toys with scale and perspective, I mostly felt giddy. 

This installation reminded me of the artwork of another sculptor: Saskatchewan-Canadian legend Joe Fafard. Renown for sculpting a multitude of multi-sized cows (there's a herd of them in Toronto) he also sculpted his friends and neighbours (farmers, waitresses, artists and teachers). 

Why do artists enjoy playing with scale? Why not? 

In particular, Fafard tells about a dream he once had where he had to confront a fearful figure but instead of escaping he stared the man down and the imposing figure shrunk smaller and smaller and smaller. It seems to me that in a way, artists can subdue, even master ideas by altering their size. 

Plus, similar to Sean Henry's art, I think Fafard invites us to reexamine the extraordinary ordinary and recognize that we average folks (and many other everyday things) might just be works of art too.

Small?

Irish writers? Extraordinary. 

C.S. Lewis...W.B. Yeats... James Joyce... Oscar Wilde...  Bram Stoker... Claire Keegan... Sinead O'Connor... Bono... Dolores O'Riordan... the Irish Rovers... Hozier...

Although Ireland has a relatively small population (about 5.3 million), the country, per capita, apparently produces the second-highest number of poets, writers, and songwriter-musicians (Iceland is number one). 

Why is this?

Clearly, Ireland has established systems for the arts to thrive, but it also speaks to the way the Irish value and elevate storytelling.

So when I saw this whiskey in Ireland, I chuckled, not entirely surprised by the cheeky name. Who hasn't drowned their tears in alcohol once or twice? But I also thought, oh yes, I know the struggle that is writing and communicating as I write and rewrite a lifetime of words like assembling Lego. Does this connect? What's missing? Is this forming something perceptible? Yet despite the struggle, writers gotta write, hoping to bring something into being—an idea, a release, a light in the dark? For creatives, tears (sad and happy) are inevitable. 

Today those tears continue to fall for another Irish singer-songwriter, Glen Hansard. In one of the many tributes occurring in Ireland and elsewhere, someone expressed his admiration for the artist this way: "he operated at the speed of love." Is there a better legacy (or sentence) than that? Tears indeed. 

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Welcome to the Moon the Burren

Canadian English majors typically study Northrup Frye, a prominent literary critic and theorist. (Margaret Atwood would fill that role now.) Regarding Canadian identity, Frye argued that our geography is everything: he speculated that it's less about "who are we?" and more about "where are we?"

My interpretation of his theory is that because Canada is so big, our massive (and imposing) land mass combined with such diverse geography and relative isolation with low populations, makes us Canadians less about being one nation and more about many nations, many peoples. We are regionalized folks, connected but with differing customs and traditions. Our history adds to this notion as we were founded on three nations: Indigenous, French, and English, although in 2026 we are many more diverse peoples too.  

I like to think of it this way: it's as though we Canadians paddle in many canoes, but share the same storms. 

But then what do we Canadians have in common with each other? Lots, but regarding geography, two examples:

1. The Canadian Shield: a glacier-scraped scar of bedrock, lakes, and trees that covers 50% of Canada, not exactly a beach. Add the Rocky Mountains and well, we're basically just rocks, er, we just rock—that's how we roll. 

2. Winter. Snow doubt about it, we put the north in North America. This underscores our survival instincts, again a factor of geography. 

Yes, I'm a geography nerd, and that (finally) brings me to the Republic of Ireland—a country whose geography has also shaped the country's character, in particular, The Burren. It's otherworldly and the geographical equivalent of a cinematic anxiety dream. So sure, why not attempt to live there, right? 

Our Shield is similar to this Irish dreamscape as is Nova Scotia's incredible Peggy's Cove and parts of Newfoundland, etc. I have visited the Burren twice now and I can't help but believe that surviving it helped forge an Irish resilience, a toughness, and when those Irish came to Canada? They brought that grit with them: "many a good tree grew on shallow ground." 

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One last post about Northern Ireland. 

After some shopping in downtown Belfast, we were walking back to our accommodations when I noticed this statute. 

I thought, is that Frederick Douglass? 

I read his pivotal autobiography in 2024, but I had no idea he visited the UK and Ireland (summarized here in a short video). My favourite Douglass quote? "Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." 👏 

Later that day, I read that after his book was published in the US it became widely popular and a big seller all over the world, but it triggered the demented possibility that he could be recaputured and enslaved again. So, he toured Ireland giving lectures on prejudice and liberation—something the Irish certainly know a thing or two about, don't they? 

Douglass loved Ireland and felt "transformed" there, "I find myself not treated as a color, but as a man." Inspired to erect his likeness, the Irish obviously loved him too. His statue, the only one of Douglass outside of the US, is located near where he spoke in Belfast (1845-46) and depicts him gesturing as he speaks to his listeners. Thankfully, his words live on and thanks to the Irish appreciation for art, one can also see his passion for human rights. 

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No pun intended, but Belfast has many eye-catching murals, all of them invite curiosity. Inevitably, some are political, hearkening back to those historical conflicts between the loyalist Protestants and nationalist Catholics. Although I read the Belfast history book I bought there, I feel I have only skimmed the surface of The Troubles. 

But if you look closely at this particular Belfast mural, made in 2025, you'll see it reflects a smiling child holding an ice cream cone. To me, it feels playful and forward-looking, a warmhearted nod to the Irish children who have inherited this history and might paint Ireland anew. And (to me) it seems to pose a question: who's looking at whom? 

Entitled "The Ice Cream of My Eye," I think the artist, My Dog Sighs, wants us to think about the future. Some quick research reveals that his work is inspired by Banksy: he aims to use street art to engage every demographic, particularly those who never seek art at all, a most worthwhile pursuit, iyam. I still encounter people today who think art is not for them, but art is distinctly intended for everyone. Art is not for intellectuals; art is not supposed to be genteel—art is a human impulse.

Art can be created without any conscious agenda, and although it often feels personal and individual, it can also open space for bigger conversations (discussions that might not otherwise every happen). Moreover it can open a gate and unify diverse peoples. History reveals that sometimes words conquer us, divide us, fail us, but art is a language without words and whether it yells or whispers, sometimes it says it best of all.