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I arrived in Georgia yesterday. After two hours of sleep the night before, a long day of travel, and hell-hath-no-fury-like-an-hot-day-in-Atlanta, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go out for dinner. I was tired, cranky, and hungry, which basically meant I felt as fun as tequila donkey with two legs. Ashley and a great group of girls rallied and we walked to not one, but TWO restaurants that were closed. Why are restaurants closed on Sunday, I scoff, instantly regretting wearing heels. It's Sunday. That was the response. Just like that.
Internet, apparently restaurants are closed in the south because SWEETBABYJESUS DOESN'T WANT PEOPLE TO EAT ON SUNDAYS. Amen. |
We ended up at Taco Mac and over the roar of football fans, we got to talking about words. Specifically the impact we have as curators of our work. Everything we say is a reflection of who we are and what we produce. If you use words to tear down, marginalize, or belittle, people may admire your art, but they'll have a hard time respecting the artist.
When you love what you do, cautiously approach what you say...and how you say it. Even when we doubt it, our peers are watching. |
    
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