#deardick

I realised these letters are to blurt out your inner story, your desires and your weirdest you. What a platform! Combined with the push Keith Haring’s exhibition has given me: flashes of thrown paint buckets, snippets of protesters’ shouting down, thousands of words only I can see behind my closed eyes, feelings that occur when I’m raking over old coals and an eagerness that appeared dead a long time ago. Art in every form and its simplest manifestation. My fingers are itching to write.