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I couldn’t resist the temptation to re-post poet Min Kang’s thoughts from Nola Studiola here. She speaks, I think quite concisely, to the sometimes debilitating question that nags at the back of artist’s minds when our pursuits don’t feel necessary: “why?”
Hello, dear reader! Thank you for clicking and saying yes to “unnecessary art.” And for clicking this out of obligation because we are: family, friends, colleagues, or lovers. Or because it is Friday afternoon and your brain refuses to function after lunchtime.
Just looking at the neat white box of my internet browser makes me feel drunk with power. “What can I say?” “Will anyone read this?” “Will what I say make a difference, my ugly bundle of thoughts, swimming amongst a sea of lists, like ‘365 ways that Chipotle customers are the worst‘?” (Oh, now I am craving a burrito bowl.)
But the act of writing, just like my super-serious attempts at creating exclusive “clubs” with other middle schoolers, it always feels more important at the time. We made membership cards out of wide ruled notebook paper and stamped them with our carved-out erasers to legitimatize ourselves. You had to be quick about…
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