As a child I was busy collecting a glass slipper, a red riding hood cape and muddy boots and birdseed, hoping Superman showed up to rescue me from the wicked witch’s cottage in the woods. From childhood we expect rescuers from the forest of thorns.
As a quiet only child I consumed fairy tales like self-help books. What steps I should take, which door could be opened. The power of their magical answers led me to art. Buried deep in fairy tales lies the long-shot promise that we can find our way out of the forest again.
Dakota, age 3