I’m pretty sure—is there a word like “un-pretty?—that you’ve also had those high-pressure days when you feel like that subject molded and sculpted by Julie Lluch. Yup, it’s her self-portrait of a once mad or maddened hausfrau, stressed out, put upon, on the verge of a breakdown or biting off someone’s ear.
I’ve always identified with the work. I still see myself in it. Each time I am summoned by she who writer Pablo Tariman calls a living goddess of literature, I take a few minutes to admire the work all over again.
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