I’m looking at the drawing I just received from my artist friend, Miguel Perez, in Madrid. It’s on the floor in my living room, leaning against a table in front of the wall space I’ve reserved for it for five years. I’m drinking a whiskey, and wanting to cry.  And I say to myself, “It makes me feel like…” But I stop, because I don’t know how it makes me feel. I know only THAT it makes me feel.  And I realize I’m closer to understanding why I choose the art I do for my walls…

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