Beauty And the Beast
Okay, I must get my anger and disappointment out on the page. Who are the people who re-elected Trump? Do they not care that he is a serial rapist, a racist, a misogynist, a felon, a man completely devoid of integrity? None of those things are deal breakers? I do not understand. I do not understand. Will I, ever? Should I try to? Yesterday, I went into Toronto for a medical appointment (nothing major). On the train in, I found myself looking at everyone with suspicion: Are you a Trump supporter? Are you? Are you happy about the US elections outcome? Do you align yourself with him? I have lost my faith in my fellow human beings. After the appointment, I headed over to the Art Gallery of Ontario. There are some days you have to take yourself to look at art. I forgot I was hungry. I looked at art. The classics, the landscapes, the portraits, the still-lifes. And then . . . a marvelous collection of wild colour and beauty – the huge quilted canvases by Pacita Abad, a Philippine-born