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I first took to writing in a very heady way. After all, I was brought up immersed in the study of languages and literature--Latin, French, and German, as well as English--in a strictly analytical approach. I still honor the value of this education: it provided an invaluable foundation for what I do to this day. Then, when I turned my attention to writing about art, Conceptualism was in full bloom. It played into my hands. Well, into my head. It's only in recent years that I have come to believe that the mind engaged in writing is very much more than the games of the brain. It's an integrity of heart, body, and--yes--the human soul. It is this fullness of expression that I look for in the art that I admire and write about today. It's inner work. And I like to believe that I see the change I have myself experienced reflected in what artists are striving for these days: a vulnerability, a willingness to explore--and expose--the inner core of what it means to be a human being. In short, a generosity. A giveaway. A kind of love.