I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be A Wild Thing. There’s an element of danger to it. There’s an element of facing fear. There’s unknowns. Hunger. Exposure. Vulnerability.
Why do we crave these wild things? Why do we crave to feel ourselves in their shoes? Why do we want to put our hearts into the shape of something that’s fighting tooth and nail to survive? Why do we adore these monsters?
Because, let’s face it, a wild thing is a monster. It’s the danger that draws us in, the potential for death that is tamed by some unspeakable tenderness.
I’m haunted by these questions. I don’t have answers. What I have is my paints, and I’ll keep wondering, with each brushstroke, if I’m painting in order to tame something or in an attempt to set something free.
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