Pablo Picasso said that painting is just another way of keeping a diary. I know I saw that sort of diary by my mother, and I think the same extends to music, as well.  Any time we’re creating, the creation itself is sort of like an I-Ching moment, a slice of time that reflects who we are at that precise point.

I mention this because my heroine is working through her grief via street art. She cannot express herself any other way.  It’s embedded in her like plant roots.

I wonder if fashioning something out of our pain is the only way to uproot toxins….

Today I start my morning pages.