Each one of our cells has a nucleus, which contains all of our genetic information (except gametes, of course). According to epigenetics, each cell is informed by the choices of all of our ancestors. So many weirdos, making bad choices and good. My philandering uncle Wick. My teenaged grandmother, hiding in a tree with a book to evade housework. My dairy farming great grandfather who brought home raw milk at lunchtime to my thirsty father. I think my poor little cells are loaded up with these people who could not agree. I think they form me like a Frankenstein monster of conflicting influences. My grandmother, mother and self want/ed to be performing artists, but we also want/ed to hide. I wonder what their grandparents wanted. My father want/ed to be a writer and photographer, but he also wanted to hide. What is wrong with us? I know we all have a sort of deathly fear of exposure, because of the chaos that results naturally when something is handed over to public scrutiny. No more control or ownership of one's creation. For my part, I want to hang onto things too tightly (lately, especially), because I feel afraid that others will cast scorn upon things that I value in myself and in the world. The artist has only her soul to offer, in a sense, and I'm afraid of someone thumbing his nose at mine. It's too easy.