Georgia O’Keeffe Hitching a Ride to Abiquiu, Ghost Ranch, 1944. Photographie de Maria Chabot What do we do with our restless hearts in these days of pandemic-induced lockdowns? Is there such a thing as nostalgia whereby we long not for a “normal” that advantaged only the few and fueled the inequalities that have made the pandemic a fucking disaster for the many, but for the times in our lives which stretched and strengthened that muscle we call our heart? I want to call it my feminist nostalgia.
Sometimes I read one of Mona's essays before I begin a writing assignment, so I am freshly steeped in boldness, courage, owning my voice, remembering that my experiences flavor what I will write, no matter how "neutral" or "institutional" my words may appear.
Sometimes I read one of Mona's essays before I begin a writing assignment, so I am freshly steeped in boldness, courage, owning my voice, remembering that my experiences flavor what I will write, no matter how "neutral" or "institutional" my words may appear.