For Maurice Sendak ~
Growing up I never related to Sendak’s books. I always had a sense when reading his work that I was running through the minefield of his mind, his life, and my own childhood was horrific enough to not require further burdens. Yet, there is an inescapable terror in his work, just as there is in the best fairy tales, that speaks to the initiatory capacity and experience of childhood. There is a true genius to Sendak’s work, and most of all a uniqueness and artistry that in his passing leave a tremendously felt void.
I like this picture of Sendak because he’s smiling and seems truly happy, an emotion I didn’t feel from his books or interviews very often.