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Liana FinckThe New Yorker |
I️ need to honor my existence and this wonderful life, and make things. But, first, I️ need to get out of bed.

How dare life require so much of you, when what you were born to do is sit in a corner of the room and watch and draw?

Finding a way through the past, the present, and the unspeakable.

Banish the emptiness of not feeling useful, productive, directed.


A functioning partnership requires an equitable division of the workload of maintaining a family.

Juggling life and work as an artist feels like trying to juggle a live, squirming human child and Schrödinger’s theoretical cat.

Are these the usual blank stares—or something heavier?

Witches and skeletons make sense for this holiday, but your guess is as good as mine when it comes to “a general spooky vibe.”

I want to embrace amor fati, but I really can no longer recollect who I once was.
