On a whim, I happened to read through some of my older non-fiction work, most of which has me very delicately and romantically describing my depression. But I was actually shocked by how good it was — how lovely and melancholic with perfect similes and metaphors that still so perfectly describe the hell I suffer when the sads come to visit.
Read MoreI’ve been thinking about the concept of “high” and “low” art a lot lately, and the more I think of it, the more it infuriates me. The concept itself as it was conceived doesn’t bother me as much as does the fact that in this day and age there are people who unironically still use the terms to differenciate between “good” and “bad” art — or worse, “worthy” and “unworthy” art. The fact that they fail to acknowledge (or even recognize themselves) that the terms are rooted in classism and continue to widen the gap between classes is infuriating.
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