Excerpted from the memoir, Negative Space
In this short story, an artist father and his son, an art critic, have a dramatic and telling confrontation at a gallery opening.
Goddamn it to motherfucking hell, she says. I think that ought to cover it, he says. He asks her why she feels the need to swear so much, so deliberately, what depends on it, why it’s so important to her. Why, after so long, she hasn’t grown tired. Worn out in the mouth.
The novelist on the precarious lives of artists, the oversimplification of trauma narratives, and the importance of building queer, chosen families.
I meet the artist, who does x, for a snack one afternoon. We have the kind of conversation it was more necessary to have previous to the existence of the Internet. We exchange general info about the world.