I moved the dolls about the dollhouse, pushing them here and there. Tried to make them talk to each other. They remained mute objects. The passage from reality to playing pretend was shut. Forever.
The Dollhouse
Books as a Way of Becoming
If there is one theme I can’t escape writing about in everything I create it is how someone becomes themselves. What choices, circumstances, system, sorrow shaped them into who they are? And will they stay stuck or keep growing into themselves?