The moment you see something with your own eyes and feel injustice with all your senses, you cross an inner border, you know you can’t go back from there.
The lens through which our art is seen and studied can have a definite bias if, for example, our #MeToo stories are in the public forum.
Ours was the home friends gravitated to. Where the door was always open and some homemade delicious meal to feed an army was baking in the oven. It was a place in which it was impossible not to feel a heart full of love and peace.