The past will reveal to us the nature of the present. —Joan Perucho
"No one is doing anything this winter. Everyone shows what they’ve done. A season of weaving rewoven in itself, the thread bent over the frame, the whole thing impeccable. 'I have been patient so long...' said Rimbaud. Visions. Tapestries. Happiness. And without knowing how, a great sadness."
—Etel Adnan, "Notes on Weaving," APS No. 24
"Why are we not ourselves, we wonder, all the time—or at least, more of it?"
"Here’s a little Tolstoy tale just for you. Tolstoy observed that Russian aristocrats could weep over melodrama in the theater and never think of their coachmen waiting outside in the terrible winter snow. He did not mention that he had an illegitimate brother employed by his father as a coachman."
From "An Imagined Panel," APS No. 12