If the gods were honest, life would be a lot less fun; poets wouldn’t need to suffer over subtleties, painting would be technique, not perspective, the bible would be written in Physics...
and she would be out of a job.
Thankfully (for her) the gods are inherently dishonest.
Her work is like that of a parent, trying to put together an idea of reality based on the fibs of children whose faces are covered in crumbs, but swear they haven’t touched the cookie jar.
I ask her how she feels about spirituality,
“I believe in the beauty of the natural world.
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