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I grew up on the Mississippi river. We lived above the Jazz & Blues club my father owned with the train 







a second generation immigrant patriarchal household.. most of the women in my family never even learned to drive a car. I was told that being an artist, especially a sculptor, wasn't a real profession and I struggled with that perception for many years. That idea, coupled with growing up in a fairly conservative Midwestern city, set me squarely outside of family and friends.. harboring surrealist interpretations of the world around me set me even further on the fringe. Over time, and after much traveling 

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