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The smell of blood on the wall.

I open the gallery door, walk in with that sinking feeling I always have in galleries.  It’s the carpets that do it to me, the hush, the sanctimoniousness of it all:  galleries are too much like churches, there’s too much reverence, you feel there should be some genuflecting going on.  Also I don’t like it…

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True value.

Found in a gift shop at the Grand Canyon. As it happens, I bought two Navajo rugs recently, which currently take pride of place in front of the stove and the sink in my kitchen. And there is zero whining over how much they cost. Apropos of which, Marian of my knitting group recently ran…

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