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"How to look good in a dress" or, you know, whatever you want to wear!

(I am definitely not the best person to talk about this, but here we are.)

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“I was the product of an affair.  My father had sex with my mother once, and she hadn’t even told him about the pregnancy.  So he never knew I existed.  I was an only child.  I was desperate to connect with my identity.  But I had no way of finding him because my mother remembered his name incorrectly.  It wasn’t until I became an adult that I was finally able to track him down.  The first time we met, he sat in a chair, pulled out a cigar, and said: ‘I was expecting you to be a boy.’  It turns out that he’d had a son while he was in college, and he’d given that child up for adoption.  Somewhere out there, I had a brother.  I grabbed a napkin and wrote down all the information my father could remember.  But it wasn’t enough.  I couldn’t locate my brother.  Soon I got busy with my family and my mind moved on to other things.  Then two years ago I was on Ancestry.com, and I got a ping.  It wasn’t like: ‘Oh, here’s your brother.’  But it was a match of some sort.  And I’m really good at investigating that stuff, so I found him on Facebook and sent him a message.  After we confirmed things with a DNA test, Eric and I hit the ground running.  We call each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister.’  We’ve visited each other’s families.  We look alike.  We think alike.  I’ve shared my poetry with him.  He shares his music with me.  We’re both divorced, and middle-aged, and experiencing similar things.  So there’s so much to talk about.  We have these text conversations that last all morning.  I’m not that same teenage girl anymore—desperate for connection.  I don’t have a void that I’m trying to fill.  But he’s just been such a nice addition to my life.  I love having a brother.” #quarantinestories

Press footage of the original Broadway cast of Sunday in the Park with George (1984)

Narcissa’s visit to Hermione’s parents

Narcissa: *observes if there’s any weed in the garden before entering the                         area of the house.*

Narcissa: *carefully looks around before making her way to the rear of the                         house to find rest of the weeds.*

Narcissa: *feels relieved finding no weed in the whole garden.*

Narcissa: *finally reaches the door, straightens the folds of her dress, clears                      her throat and rings the bell.*

Narcissa: *enters the house holding her head high, greets Mrs Granger in a                      very sophisticated manner.*

Narcissa: *as Hermione’s mother leaves to get some tea, she jumps into her                     operation.*

Narcissa: *checking if there’s dust on the furniture.*

Narcissa: *surfing the TV channels continuously.*

Narcissa: *unnecessarily switching the LED lights on and off.*

Narcissa: *enjoying her childish acts.*

Narcissa: *suddenly notices Mrs Granger standing at the door, holding a tray,                   staring at her with round eyes in amazement.*

Narcissa: *immediately sits straight and tries to act normal but soon realises                     her efforts to look normal has gone in vain already.*

Narcissa: How Mugglish!

bebe neuwirth on cabaret, television, and the stage

“Leah was my absolute best friend.  She was an only child too, so it was this next level sisterly bond.  Her boyfriend Rasual became like a brother as well.  He valued Leah’s friendships, so we became like a family.  One night the two of them were driving home and lost control of their vehicle.  Both of them passed away, instantly.  My grieving process was very hard.  People were worried about me.  The everyday, basic things became so difficult.  I wasn’t cooking dinner for my kids.  I wasn’t painting very much.  Then one year after their death, I got invited to exhibit at an art show in Cleveland.  It was on the anniversary of Leah’s funeral.  I’m not even sure why I accepted the invitation.  While I was getting ready in my hotel room, I remember saying a little prayer.  I said: ‘Leah, I love you so much, but help me get through tonight without talking about you.  Just one night.’  I arrived at the event and noticed that I’d be sharing my wall with another artist.  His name was Bonic.  He was deep in conversation with someone.  The first thing I noticed was his voice.  It was a very strong voice.  And it was so familiar.  I introduced myself, and told him: ‘This is going to sound crazy, but your voice sounds just like my friend who passed away.’  And he said: ‘Do you mean Rasual?’  It turns out that he’d known Leah and Rasual for years.  He recognized me from their memorial service.  That was over a year ago.  Since then, Bonic and I have done so many collaborations.  We’ve been all over the world together.  He’s great with my kids.  He’s my soul mate.  Without question, he was the reason I was at that show.  At the end of that night, I went back to my hotel room, and I wrote an entry in my journal.  I wrote the date, and a single line: ‘Leah, did you send him to me?’"                     #quarantinestories

Spencer Finch - 366, Emily Dickinson’s Miraculous Year (2009)

This work is based on Emily Dickinson in 1862, when she wrote 366 poems in 365 days. It is a real-time memorial to that year, which burns for exactly one year. The sculpture is comprised of 366 individual candles arranged in a linear sequence, each of which burns for 24 hours. The colour of each candle matches a colour mentioned in the corresponding poem. For the poems in which no colour is mentioned, the candles are made out of natural paraffin.

Untitled, 2024 - by David Galstyan (1986), Armenian

"My life and my creativity is all about learning how to get out of the way." — Bernadette Peters