That scoundrel, man—he gets used to everything. Fyodor Dostoevsky Maybe the moon is full and bright and earth reveals bones, shallow graves in a shallow war. Maybe the moon’s light plays with the meek fire of men cramped beneath a bridge in Ohio as they watch gray chunks of ice float...
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It’s getting dark when the road curves into Moab. My twenty-two year old daughter is with me on my cross-continent divorce odyssey. Six weeks ago, her dad told me our thirty-year marriage was over and my life feels as stark as the landscape that surrounds us. I’ve made a reservation at a swank place
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About Crystal Moore: As an artist, I think in images. Instead of stringing together words, I compose visual essays of form, symbolic meaning, light, time, and context. I think of art as a tool and as a process. It can be used as a catalyst for dialog and can help promote social and personal...
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